by Kit Morgan
“Really?” she said sarcastically. “But you hardly teased me at all.”
He winked at her. “At this point, Mrs. Cornell, I don’t need to.”
Bart hadn’t had a woman on his arm in a long time. Years, in fact.
He gave Elizabeth a sideways glance. She looked straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the street. She was nervous, he could tell. But considering his behavior the last few days he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t been at his best – too pushy, too quick to make decisions. Too controlling. He needed to watch that.
Especially around Elizabeth, who was used to being in control herself. If there was one thing he’d learned about women who were scared, they wanted to control things. Elizabeth might not even realize it, but he’d seen the look in her eyes when Willow and Jack brought up her husband. He also noticed she never mentioned his name – not at Eldon and Aggie’s, not at the Carlsons’, not at the shop.
Maybe his passing was so tragic and painful that she couldn’t move on – or just didn’t want to. Maybe that’s why she was so good at dressmaking – could she have poured herself into her work after his death? What was it like when she found herself alone, with no one to take care of her but herself? She’d done a darn good job of it, in more ways than one. But it had left scars on her soul, and they showed.
“Are you going to volunteer for the picnic?” she asked.
“Ah yes, the picnic. Jack secured my services while you and Willow were in the kitchen.”
“Really?” she asked bemusedly – and finally looked at him. “Pray tell, what services?”
“Organizing the games. Bobbing for apples, a pie-eating contest, an egg race.”
“All involving food,” she said with a grin.
“Jack knows me too well.”
“You never thought to be a chef?”
“I prefer making people fashionable rather than fat.” That made her laugh, and he spoke without thinking. “You’re very pretty when you’re in high spirits.”
Elizabeth almost tripped. Bart had to brace himself and tighten his hold on her to keep her upright. “Be careful.”
“Merciful heavens, Mr. Brown. The things that come out of your mouth.”
“I didn’t mean to make you stumble. I only meant to give a compliment. But it seems you have a hard time accepting them.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Instead of answering, he got them walking again. She didn’t say anything, and neither did he for several moments. The shop came into view and he felt disappointed. He wanted to keep walking with her. He also wanted to not keep putting his foot in his mouth. “Do you like living over the shop?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.”
At least she was still speaking to him. Bart took it as a good sign. “Are your quarters large?”
“They go from the front of the building to the back, just like the shop does. It suits my needs.”
“Would it have suited you and your husband’s?” he asked, then squinted his eyes shut. “Forgive me, that’s too personal.”
“Actually, Aggie asked the same thing when she saw it for the first time. It would’ve suited us just fine. I’m sure Alexander would think so.”
“Alexander – a good strong name.”
He hadn’t realized they’d stopped again until she turned to face him. “He was a good strong man. In more ways than one.” She looked away. “He’s the only man I’ve ever met who loved me as I am.”
Any words Bart had at that moment dissolved in his throat. No wonder she’d found him so annoying, with all his talk of clocks and credit and tailoring and dinner parties. Without thinking about it, he’d been trying to make her act the way he thought she should, instead of letting her be herself and trusting her. He’d treated her the way so many women had treated him – as a project. Which was why he was still unmarried – and probably why she was too.
Shame on you, you first-class dunce, he scolded himself – especially because he was her employee, not her boss. His was not to question why, to paraphrase the poem; his was to do his job and show Mrs. Cornell the respect she deserved. Anyone who could make a go of it running a boutique on the edge of civilization like this had earned it. It was about time he started showing it.
“Mr. Brown?”
Bart shook himself from his thoughts, even as he determined to follow them. “He sounds like someone I’d have liked getting to know,” he said gently.
She looked into his eyes. “You know, as aggravating as you can be, I think he would’ve liked you.”
Bart smiled. “Now I know I would’ve liked him. And …” He took a second to collect his thoughts. “And I apologize for all the times I’ve run ahead of your orders. I guess I got used to managing all my own affairs, and forgot that I shouldn’t be managing other people’s.”
She too smiled, wider than he’d ever seen before. “Thank you, Mr. Brown. I appreciate that. And rest assured, I am thinking about the suggestions you’ve made. They’re good ideas – I just need to work out if I can implement them.” She faced forward and they started walking again.
When they reached the shop’s front door he released her arm so she could pull out her key. “I have an extra, you know.”
“Extra?” he said.
“An extra key. Actually, Aggie has it right now. Ask her to give it to you. You can use it to open the shop in case I’m actually late at some point.”
Bart smiled at the – wait, was she teasing him? Bravo. “I’ll … I’ll do that, thank you.”
She inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. “Good night, Mr. Brown. Thank you for the conversation.”
Bart stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked toe-to-heel a few times. “Good night, Mrs. Cornell. Until tomorrow.”
She smiled again. “Until tomorrow. I … I look forward to it.” She entered the shop and closed the door.
Bart waited until he saw the soft glow of a lantern overhead in her rooms. Sensing she was now safe and sound, he headed for the livery stable where he’d left his horse.
As he went, he fell deep into thought. Well, well, old boy, he told himself, amazing what a little humility can accomplish. In the span of one short walk, he’d gone from being an inch away from getting cashiered to someone that Mrs. Cornell looked forward to seeing. All because he finally got it through his thick skull that she was in charge of her own boutique.
Yes, she was strong-willed – so was he. They’d both had to be to last as long as they did – through the war and other adventures for him, through widowhood and starting her own business for her. He respected her success – he respected her. In fact, he found he rather liked her, now that he wasn’t trying to get his own way all the time …
He stopped dead on the boardwalk. Liked her?! Where did that come from? No, no – that way lay madness. She only saw him as a worker – and up to this point, not an ideal one. Besides, they were both used to being on their own – too stubborn, too set in their ways. She was too much … like him, he concluded.
So no. Be a good employee. That’s what she needed, not some suitor breathing down her neck – lovely neck though it was …
Elizabeth slept. No tossing, no turning, just a deep, dreamless night’s sleep. Thank the Lord for that. She awoke refreshed, as if a part of her was new. It certainly helped that she and Bart had called a truce last night. He was a good man, and would be a good employee, she was sure – they’d both simply needed some time to adjust. He was a bit bullheaded, but she was too. When starting a business, it was a good trait to have.
She got up, dressed, ate, went through the rest of her morning routine and hurried downstairs to find the workroom clock reading 7:36. “Is that right?” she asked herself as she reached up and removed it from its perch. She put it to her ear. Tick-tock, tick-tock. “My heavens, it’s working.” She shrugged and put it back. “I wasn’t as tired last night as I thought.”
She went up front, tidied up the counter and displays, then returned to the workroom.
She had three appointments for fittings today, four tomorrow, and the picnic was fast approaching. She and Bart were going to be up to their necks in work for a while.
There was a small noise up front and the door opened, the bell overhead signaling Bart’s arrival. After all, who else would have a key? He must’ve asked Aggie for it last night. “Good morning, Mrs. Cornell,” he called cheerily. “I hope I’m not too early.”
“Not at all – I was just getting started. However,” she added jokingly, “I didn’t ask you to come early. This doesn’t affect your wages.”
“I understand. You’re a fair woman, not one to be taken advantage of.”
“I should say not.” Her usual aggravation toward him hadn’t kicked in yet. Who knew, maybe it wouldn’t. They tackled their morning tasks together and worked quietly.
Then their first customer arrived: Mrs. Waverly, a basket of eggs on her arm. Elizabeth’s eyes darted toward her assistant, who at least had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Good morning, Mrs. Waverly,” she said.
“Good morning! I did just as you asked, Mr. Brown. Here you go – an even dozen!” Mrs. Waverly set the basket on the counter.
Elizabeth instantly figured out what had happened. She eyed the eggs before arching a single eyebrow at Bart. “You mentioned something yesterday about ‘running ahead of my orders’ …”
He grimaced. “Ye-e-es.”
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Waverly asked.
“Well …” Elizabeth didn’t want to shame Bart in front of a customer – unless, of course, he really deserved it. “I’m a little unclear on what arrangement you made with Mr. Brown.”
“Oh. Well, I knew I was a little short on money for the dress, on account of having to pay for Milo’s medicine – he just can’t seem to shake that cough. So Mr. Brown offered to buy some of my eggs to make up the difference.”
“Quite right. I’m sure Eldon and Aggie will love them.” Mr. Brown reached into his pocket, pulled out some money and handed it to her.
She took it from him, counted it, pulled some more from her reticule and handed it all to Elizabeth. “There – I believe that’s enough for my dress.”
Elizabeth, stunned, took the money, put it on the counter and counted it out. “Yes, that’s … that’s enough.” She eyed Bart again before turning back to a smiling Mrs. Waverly.
“Oh, this is lovely! I’ve thought of selling eggs and things before, but Milo can be so stingy sometimes. He doesn’t see the point of selling the extra. He thinks we get along fine without. But there’s no sense wasting it, now is there?”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance and smile with Bart. He’d found a solution for the elderly woman – and for her. “What a good idea,” she told Mrs. Waverly. “Shall we get started?”
Mrs. Waverly beamed as she followed Elizabeth to the workroom to be measured. By the time she finished, the next customer – Mrs. Bibb, another farmer’s wife and the Waverlys’ neighbor – had arrived. She, Elizabeth recalled, was in the same financial straits as Mrs. Waverly. And she was carrying a quilt. “Good morning, Mrs. Bibb.”
Mrs. Bibb approached the counter. “Good morning.” She faced Bart. “You’re Mr. Brown?”
“Yes, ma’am, I certainly am. That’s a lovely quilt.” He looked at Elizabeth, his brow furrowed as if to say, I don’t know what’s going on either.
“Yes, I just finished it. Miriam Waverly told me about your arrangement with her, so I thought I’d bring it in and see if I could trade it toward the cost of my dress. If neither of you need it for yourself, you could donate it on the shop’s behalf as a prize.”
“Prize?” Elizabeth asked and glanced at Bart, who still looked confused.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Bibb. “For the picnic. Willow Carlson told me Mr. Brown was in charge of that.”
“Oh my,” Bart whispered.
Elizabeth knew she needed to step in before things got even farther out of hand. “Um … would you ladies excuse us for just a minute?” she said, while tugging unobtrusively at Bart’s sleeve.
He got the hint and followed her back to the workroom. “I didn’t realize … I didn’t intend …”
Elizabeth held up a hand. “A small town. Everyone talks to everyone else, and things can take on a life of their own. I understand. So … what are we going to do about it?”
Bart’s shoulders relaxed. “Well … would you actually want the quilt?”
“Yes, I would – winters get terrible here, and Mrs. Bibb makes very fine quilts.” She tapped her finger on her chin in thought. “You had a look at it – how much do you think it would be worth?”
“Well, I only caught a glance, but … in a shop in the East, it would fetch as much as a nice day dress. Possibly more.”
“Then I think a solution presents itself, don’t you? But the next time we’re between customers, let’s sit down and talk about these situations in detail. I can’t be ducking out of the shop front every time someone wants to cut a deal.”
“Agreed – it would look odd.” Bart risked a smile.
She returned it. “Back to business, then.” She returned to the front, Bart following, and took the quilt from Mrs. Bibb to inspect it more closely. “It is lovely, isn’t it, Mr. Brown?”
“Quite. You have a keen sense of balance, Mrs. Bibb.”
“Oh, Mr. Brown. It’s just a quilt.”
“No, really. Anyone would be proud to own it. I could easily see it hanging in a shop in Philadelphia or New York.”
“So …” Elizabeth couldn’t believe she was doing this, but here she was. “Would you be willing to trade this for the dress you wanted?”
Mrs. Bibb beamed. “Oh yes, that would be perfect! That means a lot to me – I can’t begin to compare my quilting to the beautiful things you make. And I can save some of the money we got from Mr. Brown for the pig!”
“The pig?” Elizabeth said, looking at Bart.
“Actually, Mrs. Waverly mentioned the Bibbs had pigs the other day. I bought one from Mr. Bibb on behalf of Eldon and Aggie,” he explained. “They haven’t any livestock of their own yet, and wanted to start.”
Elizabeth stared at him, not knowing what to think or even say at the moment. Yes, he’d gotten way ahead of things, but it had all worked out. In fact, they’d taken care of several things at once, including something for her. She’d needed a new quilt and was figuring on making it herself, since it would be too much headache to order. Now she didn’t have to.
And for the first time in a very long time, she felt something stir deep inside her. Something warm, light, a brightness of spirit that had nothing to do with the boutique.
10
Bart watched Elizabeth the rest of the day. He was quieter than normal, as was usual when he was observing something, studying it carefully. His urge to tease had disappeared since last night, and he wondered why. But deep down, he knew. She’d asked him not to do it in the shop, so he wasn’t doing it. It was a matter of respect.
He clipped and tied off a thread on the trousers Rev. Latsch had brought in, set the mended pants aside and went to the front of the store. It was almost closing time, and Elizabeth was working on a window display. She was happier today – had he contributed to her good mood? He hoped so. He was glad he hadn’t driven a wedge between them – or at least removed the one he had. He wanted this to work out.
And, his heart seemed to indicate, he wanted it to for more than just the job.
He went to the storeroom for more thread and stared at the shelves, boxes, containers and baskets of supplies. He felt at home in this little shop, this tiny piece of what he used to be. The war, his family’s escapades and the woman he’d foolishly loved had taken a toll on him. He wasn’t the man he once was. The mask was there, the finely cut coat he let everyone see. But it was thick and hid well the rags beneath.
Bart took several spools and returned to the workroom. He picked up a wool skirt and examined the tears at the hem and side seams. The owner of this wor
ked hard.
Shouldn’t he do the same – work hard to restore his life to what it was? Pursue his dreams – a business, a wife and children …
But Prudence Markley had gouged out his soul, taken him for everything he had emotionally and a lot of what he’d had financially. Thank Heaven he’d socked some away where she couldn’t get at it. He hadn’t told Eldon that part of the story. It still stung that he’d been taken in by a pretty face, soft lips, tantalizing curves. And youth – Prudence had been a decade his junior. Elizabeth, on the other hand …
“Finished already?” she said, entering the workroom.
“If you’re referring to the reverend’s trousers, yes.”
“Oh, good. Whose are you working on now?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure – there’s no name attached.” He held up the skirt.
“I’m sorry about that. It belongs to Mrs. Langford. They live a day out of town – she’ll pick it up Thursday.”
“Will she be bringing anything in trade?” He did his best to look apologetic.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and, much to his surprise, chuckled. “No – I doubt the word has reached her yet. She dropped the skirt off a few days ago. Though Mr. Petroff came by while you were at lunch and jokingly asked what a pound of bacon would get him.”
“Are you insinuating that I had anything to do with …?”
“Not directly, but … yes. Just don’t trade me out of business, please. Jokingly or otherwise.”
He stood without thinking, the urge to go to her and reassure her his intentions had been to help almost too strong to ignore. “I would never do that. You have a nice shop. I wish only to make it nicer.”
She looked away again. “How big was yours?”
“In Boston?”
“Was there another?”
“No.” He drew in a breath. “I employed five people.”
Her jaw dropped. “Five? Whyever did you leave?”
