Calico Ball

by Kelly, Carla

  Her expression hardened.

  He far preferred her smiles, vivacious conversations, and secrets she told no one else.

  “Forgive me, Dr. Pattison. I misspoke.”

  Did he dare risk working beside this woman nearly every day of the week?

  “No offense taken.” Her countenance filled his heart with light. “Come with me. I’m anxious to show you our new office.”

  “I’m of the solid opinion,” Isabella stated, her tone ripe with aggravation, “that The Chieftain is not worth the paper it’s printed on.”

  Henry looked up from sweeping the floor. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the open, southwest facing windows, kissing her curls.

  Sunshine burnished the gray-green of her costume into the hue of Pennsylvania, like home. The breeze teased her hair, bobbing it this way, then that.

  Focus. On anything but Isabella’s person. Or Isabella and home in the same sentence.

  Heat.

  Windows.

  Yes. See how quickly he’d interrupted the inappropriate train of thought.

  Windows. Summertime.

  They’d need blinds before the full heat of summer, or this upstairs location would be an oven. But the past two weeks since moving in, they’d enjoyed the pleasant breeze and springtime temperatures.

  He opened a hand, silently asking for the paper.

  She passed it over. For such a little thing, she was a bundle of energy. “That Thomas Fisher is a troublemaker. I swan, he stirs up sediment, with the express purpose of causing a sensation.”

  “Well said.” He found the notice she referenced on page two. Dr. Pattison, Dr. Merritt Join Forces.

  He skimmed the “news”—the fact they’d both removed their respective dental practices to this singular address.

  Anyone with sufficient eyesight and the ability to read could’ve discovered this for themselves. Precise gold and black paint adorned second-story windows and a street-level door. Dr. H. M. Merritt, DDS, and Dr. I. M. Pattison, DDS. Modern & Painless Dentistry.

  He skimmed Fisher’s article. Dr. Pattison and Dr. Merritt combined two dental practices into one.

  Inaccurate and false. But not enough to upset her.

  The next two paragraphs hinted at a long list of improprieties, unchaperoned as they were at moments such as this.

  The accusations didn’t stop there. According to Fisher, they’d abandoned all decorum, discarded every rule, and caused a Wyoming-sized scandal.

  The “news” of their indecent behavior stank of retaliation.

  “You know the old adage, ‘Never pick a fight with someone who buys ink by the barrel.’ I fear I used flawed judgment. Again, I ask forgiveness.” Would he forever say and do the wrong thing around this woman? “If I’d not agreed to the interview, if I’d not pressured the man to retract—”

  “Stop.” She seemed far more weary than angry. “No apology necessary.”

  How could he not admire a woman who accepted apologies easily and seemed incapable of holding a grudge? The novelty endeared her to him.

  Yet the angelic quality of ready forgiveness wasn’t the same thing as tolerating a fool.

  “For the record,” he dropped the paper on her dental chair, “I never liked Fisher.”

  He grabbed the broom and resumed sweeping, expecting Isabella to wear the topic to shreds. She had every right to be agitated. Some people believed everything The Chieftain printed.

  “Neither have I.”

  He braced for the storm.

  She picked up the paper, folded it in half, and in half once again. Determination radiated from her posture and the set of her jaw.

  Here it came.

  “I’m pleased mornings remain chilly.” She pushed today’s Chieftain into the corner of the well-stocked kindling box. “Tomorrow morning, when I start the fire, Fisher’s gibberish will be reduced to ash.” She dusted her palms against each other. “Most rewarding.”

  Surprise tickled through him. What? No long-winded rant? No hysterical bout of tears?

  No, of course not. Why did he assume all lady dentists behaved like Lenora Baily?

  He laughed in delight.

  She winked.

  From the moment she’d peeked beneath the canvas covering his wagon bed, she’d been one pleasant surprise after another. She’d exceeded his expectations in the best of ways.

  What a remarkable woman. If Lenora had been like her . . .

  “I’ll strike a bargain with you, Dr. Pattison.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let’s discredit Thomas Fisher by showing ourselves a capable team of professionals in our visits to Almy and by the way all townsfolk see us interact here.”

  “Fine idea.”

  “Whether we’re seen at meetings of the Council of City Professionals or taking fresh air as we circle the block, residents of Evanston will see nothing but utmost cooperation and decorum.”

  She offered her hand to shake on it. “It’s a deal.”

  “Oh, darling—are you all right?” Sophia embraced Isabella in a sisterly hug.

  Who needed blood relatives when one had remarkable friends?

  “Come in, out of the hallway.” She urged Sophia and Naomi into the private boardinghouse bedroom.

  The walls were thin, but Isabella didn’t need to remind her friends. Sophia had lived in this same boardinghouse prior to her marriage. Their voices immediately dropped to whispers.

  “We read Fisher’s article.” Naomi took a turn hugging Isabella.

  And by sundown, they circled the wagons around her. How could she not adore these women?

  Sophia’s fury sparked. “How dare that man apologize to me, then treat you badly?”

  “It’s all right. Please, sit.”

  The ladies claimed the two upholstered chairs. Isabella took the settee, beside the dental periodical she’d been reading.

  “It’s not all right.” Sophia rarely lost her temper, but where Thomas Fisher was concerned, emotion clouded her vision.

  “You two would go to war for me, and I love you for it.”

  The three clasped hands in a circle.

  “How much of Fisher’s article is true?” Sophia asked. “We’ll love you, no matter what.”

  “You didn’t believe any of it, did you?” Isabella chuckled. An old woman with the adjoining bedroom had excessively good hearing, enjoyed nosing about, and thrived upon complaining to the landlady about noisy residents.

  “Dr. Merritt and I,” Isabella whispered, “have determined to ignore Fisher, burn today’s edition to ashes, and allow all to witness that our behavior is above reproach.” Though some would never approve of their visits to Almy.

  “We want you to be happy.” Lamplight reflected in Naomi’s eyes. “We believe Henry Merritt may be what your heart needs.”

  They knew she hoped one day to find the right man, one who understood and loved her anyway.

  Joe and Chadwick were proof such men existed.

  “I want to be happy.”

  “From everything I’ve seen,” Naomi whispered, “Henry is a good man. Joe confirmed my diagnosis.”

  The joy of dentistry, alongside Henry, had been magical. “Sharing an office has shown me more of who he is, beneath the bluster and fear.” She searched both friends’ faces, noting encouragement and hope.

  “Our time traveling to Almy and back, and now in the office each day, are the best hours of my week. We laugh, we debate, we discuss science in a manner that fills me to overflowing.”

  Both ladies nodded. They knew, perfectly.

  “I’m anxious to go to the office each morning. I’m loath to return here at night.” She paused, weighing the secrets she guarded closely when near Henry. “I want to risk letting him in.”

  “Oh, Bella.”

  Naomi’s sisterly affection provoked Isabella’s tears. She chuckled through a sob. “No nicknames.”

  Both ladies squeezed her hands. Here, she’d found home, family, and belonging. Was romantic
love too much to ask?

  “Am I foolish to hope?”

  Sophia smiled. “If you don’t take a chance, you’ll never know.”

  The following morning, Isabella waited for Henry at the gate of the Linden home.

  “Dr. Pattison?” Worry lined his features. “What’s wrong?”

  “Accompany me to the Job Office, will you?”

  “Certainly. May I ask why?” He shut the gate behind them.

  “After Mr. Fisher’s ill-mannered behavior in yesterday’s weekly, I don’t trust him to give the calico ball proper attention. You and I, the dentist subcommittee, were charged with invitations. I intend to do the job well, despite Fisher.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “He might forget to publish the calico ball, midst all statehood events.”

  “Smart thinking.” He offered his arm, took his habitual place closest to traffic, and let her set the pace. “The Job Office. The one alternative press in town.”

  “I knew you were a bright man.”

  His grin caught her in the middle. Must he be so handsome?

  Concern lined his features. “I thought Fisher planned to print the invitations.”

  “I’m certain he does. But as he’s not begun, and my concept for a specialty invitation involves materials he’s not accustomed to.”

  He chuckled—rich, deep, and warm. “Thus the Job Office.”

  “Indeed.”

  “How many invitations?”

  “We’ll need enough to be delivered to every residence, UP line shack, and soul in China Town . . . everyone in Almy, everyone in the greater county at large.”

  “That many?” he asked.

  “Yes.” His broad grin kept butterflies swirling in her stomach.

  “What plans have you for delivery?”

  “Ideally, we’d hire a reliable team to deliver the invitations to everyone in the county.”

  “But?”

  “This isn’t one of my mother’s annual parties, with a guest list of two hundred. So help me decide. The post office? A delivery service?”

  “I trust your judgment.”

  So different from don’t women handle these things? “Thank you.”

  At the Job Office, a young clerk obtained particulars and filled out a form.

  “I want the invitations printed upon calico.”

  “Calico?” The fellow blinked, his eyes magnified behind spectacles. “Fabric?”

  “Precisely.”

  “We’ve printed grain sacks . . .”

  “Yes. Fine printers, such as this establishment, do print upon fabric. In Los Angeles, my family received a calico ball invitation made of calico.”

  The young clerk blinked. “The fee will nearly double.”

  “Fabric costs more than fancy paper?” Henry’s surprise bordered on accusation.

  “Not merely the cost of the cloth, Dr. Merritt. See, calico is harder to print on. Takes a different method. And more time.”

  At nearly twice the cost, the allotted budget was insufficient.

  True, she could ask for an increase, but every dime spent on the event meant a dime lost to widows and orphans.

  Disappointment had been Isabella’s frequent companion. She knew how to cope. “Plain stock will suffice.”

  “Dr. Pattison?” Henry interrupted, ablaze with discovery. What solution had he devised?

  He settled a warm, strong hand at the small of her back. “Young man, do set our order aside, will you? By the end of the day, I’ll bring in our deposit and finalize everything.”

  Henry’s unwavering confidence proved mighty appealing.

  Outside, she blinked in the sunlight. “Tell me your idea.”

  Throughout her life, friends, classmates, and acquaintances had falsely assumed she could buy anything she wanted.

  Father’s money had purchased her education, but hadn’t brought her love.

  If Henry proved as narrow-minded, she’d be disappointed.

  Excitement animated Henry’s brown eyes. “Everyone in town will benefit from the calico ball—not only widows and orphans of the Almy mines. I suggest we approach a merchant or two and invite them to donate calico in trade for their company’s name on the invitations.”

  Why hadn’t she considered this? “I like your idea. Because of our ball’s theme, they’ll sell a good quantity to women preparing their costumes.”

  Henry wanted to help find solutions. How could she not fall, a little bit more, for this remarkable man?

  “Let’s do the same with the Job Office.” He put his hand at her back, urging her toward their dental office and their waiting work. “I’ll speak to the owner and persuade him to reduce the fee by half. We’ll credit him generously on the invitations—superbly printed upon calico.”

  “Thank you.” She wanted to halt their progress along Main Street and embrace him.

  “You’re welcome.” The genuine warmth in his eyes promised he’d lasso the moon if doing so would bring the plan into reach. How endearing.

  He doffed his hat to a matron who stepped out of Blyth and Fargo.

  “Which is more expensive?” she asked him. “Post office or delivery?”

  “We might deliver them ourselves.” His manner bordered on teasing. Or perhaps he meant it. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m accustomed to hard work.”

  “Yes, I know.” She couldn’t help chuckling.

  “We’ll distribute Almy’s through mine foremen.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  “And mail to the outlying ranchers, smaller mines, and communities in the north.”

  “Good.” Already, the plan seemed more workable. “And in the city?”

  “Deliver them door-to-door with me?”

  “You’d better be teasing, Henry Merritt.”

  “Yes. I received a note this morning at the breakfast table. Dr. Edwin English is unable to see patients for the foreseeable future.”

  She didn’t need confirmation to know Henry had agreed to help. “What happened?”

  “His wife is unwell.” Henry rested his gaze on hers. “We’ll have more patients. Later nights in the office. No personal deliveries.”

  “I’m sorry for Mrs. English.” She tipped her head, enjoying looking up, up, up. “Work before play.”

  “With you,” he winked, “work seems like play.”

  Waiting at the corner to cross the street, she couldn’t help glancing at his strong profile a time or two.

  A heavily loaded wagon lumbered past, then a man on his mount.

  “I’ve heard,” she told him, “women are already placing orders with dressmakers.”

  A twinkle shone in his eye. “You?”

  “Not yet.” With so much to do, she’d not pursued it.

  “I thought you enjoyed purchasing costumes.” He skimmed the slim lines of her new springtime-green ensemble, sans bustle. She knew how sunlight shimmered on the soft draping. “You’re lovely in this new dress, Isabella.”

  Compliments? On her personal appearance? She looked down, made anxious by his absorption in her.

  “My mother sent it. She orders one thing after another and ships crate after crate.” Embarrassing, how Mother still chose everything Isabella wore. Worse, the long-armed reach reminded Isabella every day how little Mother trusted her to dress herself.

  Something flitted through his warm eyes. “Your mother runs a constant account at the dressmaker, in California, for your costumes and matching hats?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit my mother treats me like a child.” She checked the street, finding no one near enough to overhear. “Or a debutante, twelve years past her debut.”

  He blinked. “You misunderstand. I only meant to convey my compliments. And express curiosity. I find myself desirous to know everything about you, Isabella Pattison.”

  A break in traffic came. She accepted his arm as they crossed the street. She’d heard empty flattery before. Henry’s statement was the furthest thing from it.

  He matched his pace
to hers, guiding her carefully around the worst of the mess.

  At the opposite sidewalk, she dropped her handful of skirt and petticoats.

  I want to know everything about you, Isabella Pattison.

  A few steps farther and he slipped a key into the lock of their street-level door.

  Isabella decided she could grow quite accustomed to Henry Merritt’s kindness.

  Two weeks later, Henry found himself occupied with a complaining twenty-year-old man suffering his first broken tooth.

  Isabella met the delivery boy, signed for crates filled with invitations, and went to work prying them open.

  Henry’s forceps slipped on the damaged tooth.

  “Doc!” In his outburst, the fellow chewed on Henry’s fingers. “That hurts.”

  “Be still. We’ll have this over within a minute.”

  Sure enough, by the time Isabella read an invitation in the sunlight, Henry had pulled the hopeless tooth, stopped the bleeding, stitched the man’s gum closed, urged him to keep the area clean, and collected payment.

  Henry washed and dried his hands. “Let’s see.”

  He wouldn’t have cared if the invitations had been printed on card. But Isabella cared. And he enjoyed her pleasure in something so easily accomplished.

  The calico’s blue dots and trailing vines of light green decorated the cream background. As desired, the necessary information stood out in stark relief.

  “Well done, don’t you think?” She hadn’t stopped smiling.

  “Very nice.” Friday, July 11, would feature the calico ball at the conclusion of a jubilant week. “Congratulations, Dr. Pattison.”

  “Thank you.”

  He reached for the fabric rectangle, trimmed with a pinking iron, and rubbed it between forefinger and thumb. Nice quality. A decorative frame around the important details gave credit to the Job Office, and recognized both the Blyth and Fargo and A. C. Beckwith stores for their donation of calico for printing.

  “Ready for addresses.” From an open crate, she lifted a cardboard box filled with creamy envelopes.

  “I have horrid penmanship.”

  She laughed with disbelief. “Oh no you don’t. You and I, thanks to Dr. Edwin English, are the invitation committee. Besides, you promised to help.”

  “And I will. Beginning day after tomorrow when I’ll hand a stack to the foreman of each mine.”