Mail Order Mix-Up

by Christine Johnson

  She dropped her bag on the counter and headed for the window Charlie had been trying to open. “Though I can’t imagine why anyone would want the windows open on such a cool morning. It smells like rain.”

  Roland sneezed. “It smells like flowers.”

  “Lavender,” she said with evident pride. “Mrs. Calloway gave us a bar of the loveliest soap.”

  “I—I—” He sneezed again. “I sneeze around flowers.”

  Pearl pushed open the window while Charlie scooted out of the store. “You poor dear.”

  Something in the way she said it irritated him even more. He did not need a mother. “You were only supposed to watch the store, not overhaul it.”

  Was that a smile or a smirk on her face?

  “We needed to do something.”

  “We?” This was getting worse and worse. How many people had been messing with his store?

  “Amanda and I. We decided to spruce up a bit. The dirt on the shelves was a quarter-inch thick.”

  “You’re exaggerating.” He hefted open the next window and breathed in the fresh air. Without a strong wind, it would take hours for the scent to leave the store.

  “Maybe, but dust does not display your merchandise to best advantage.”

  “This store is for the lumberjacks and mill workers. They don’t care about pretty displays and flowery scents.” He sneezed again.

  “Mrs. Wardman isn’t a mill worker or a lumberjack.”

  He hated when she was right, even if only a little. “Few of the workers are married. Those who are often don’t have their families here. Mrs. Wardman is an exception. You will find little female companionship here. I suggest you make the most of those you do meet.”

  “I have every intention of doing so, but that is not my point. A little tidiness goes a long way, even with the men. Why, we couldn’t find a proper-size hat for the gentleman who came in yesterday.”

  Roland frowned. “Then you didn’t sell him one?” He hated to lose any business, even though the man would likely be back today.

  “Of course I did. We found one that fit in back.”

  Roland choked, and this time it wasn’t the floral scent that did it. “You did what?”

  She didn’t even blink. “Found a hat that fit.”

  “I told you not to go in the stockroom.”

  “You would rather lose a customer?”

  “He would be back today. You could have told him to wait.”

  “And subject him to the heat of the sun?” She clucked her tongue like the schoolmarm she was. “He could not have worked all afternoon without a hat.”

  She might be right. In fact she probably was right, but she had directly disobeyed orders. He strode to the counter and hauled out the ledger. “Who was it? You tell me exactly what you sold him, and I will mark it down.”

  “No need.” She fluttered her hand in his direction and headed for the next window. “I already entered the sale on his account.”

  Roland scanned the general ledger and then flipped to the accounts. So she had. The price might even be reasonable. Maybe. “Which hat did you sell him?”

  “The black one.”

  His ears began to ring. “The black leather hat? With the tan hatband?” The words came out strangled, probably because of the pinching in his chest. That hat cost double what she’d charged. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t made any profit, but he’d lost money.

  “That’s the one.” She cheerily hopped off to the next window.

  He fisted his hands, wanting to punch something. He should never have let her talk him in to putting her in charge. It would have been better to close the store.

  “I told you not to go into the stockroom.” Each word came out like a rap on a drum.

  Her smile vanished as she drew near. “Is something wrong?”

  “Something wrong?” He swallowed in a vain attempt to calm himself. She didn’t know what she’d done, but she also hadn’t followed his orders. On the other hand, she had the best of motives. She’d wanted to help the customer, except her help had actually been harmful. He groaned. The damage was done, and nothing could change that. He couldn’t very well charge the man the true price after the fact. He could only ensure it never happened again.

  “Go help out at the school. You are not needed here today.” Or any day.

  She didn’t move, and he made the mistake of looking at her. Her lip didn’t quiver, like Eva’s would have. She hadn’t burst into tears, but her disappointment was still obvious.

  “I thought I was helping.” She shoved back her shoulders. “If I charged him incorrectly, I will pay the difference.”

  Now he felt like an insensitive oaf. If she couldn’t afford primers or a change of clothing, she surely couldn’t pay for the hat.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  The disappointment returned. “I will make this up to you. I promise.”

  He should say something, but what? He couldn’t lie. He could only stress that this was not her problem. “Don’t. Just leave.”

  This time her lip did quiver for a second before she reined it in. Color dotted her cheeks. She straightened her spine, spun around and strode out of the store.

  He was an insensitive clod.

  * * *

  What a self-serving, arrogant man! Pearl stomped past the big sawmill and up the sandy road that led to the schoolhouse. The river bubbled and swirled beside her. On another morning, she might have paused to enjoy its deep color and the way the light danced across the surface. Today she barely noticed it.

  He hadn’t thanked her for cleaning the store. He’d complained about the scent.

  He hadn’t thanked her for waiting on his customers and ensuring they left the store with the proper merchandise. He’d accused her of selling the wrong item at the wrong price.

  He hadn’t appreciated one bit of the work she had done without a penny’s compensation. She had stepped in so he could go to Holland and perhaps procure books for her classroom. He not only didn’t mention finding any, but she also doubted he’d even looked.

  If she was prone to tears, they would have been streaming down her cheeks by now. Instead she was mad. Livid. That man did not have one kind or gracious bone in his body.

  Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers, the Bible counseled. If she’d needed any confirmation that Roland Decker was not the man for her, she’d just received it. From now on, she would confine her comings and goings to the school, the boardinghouse and church services. As for the latter, tomorrow was Sunday and she had yet to locate the church.

  She climbed the hill that rose steadily from the river’s bank. This area must have been dunes also, before the forest took over. She was glad the lumbermen had left this patch of woods. Perhaps the aspen and poplar were too small to tempt them.

  Near the top of the hill, men hammered new shingles onto the schoolhouse roof. Charlie called out when he spotted her.

  “Look at all the work we’ve done.” He practically beamed with pride.

  Pearl smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. “It looks sturdy enough to outlast a blizzard.”

  “Or a tornado,” he added.

  She couldn’t imagine tornadoes in such a place, but she supposed anything was possible. Certainly a windstorm could damage a roof.

  The burly man beside Charlie turned to glance at her. Garrett Decker. At least he was willing to help when his brother was not.

  “Thank you, Mr. Decker.”

  He nodded curtly and pounded in another nail.

  Pearl waited until he finished. “Might you tell me where the church is located in Singapore?” Roland had mentioned that his brother was a Bible-reading man.

  Garrett looked back at her again. “If you mean a building, there isn’t one.”
>
  “What? How can a town have three saloons and no churches?”

  He grunted. “My thoughts exactly, but that’s the way it is. We gather together in the parlor of the boardinghouse and take turns reading from the Bible or reading one of the sermons from Mr. Calloway’s book of sermons.”

  Pearl tried to wrap her mind around this. She admired their initiative, but the boardinghouse parlor was small. “You need a proper church and a proper preacher.”

  He stopped hammering again. “You go ahead and tell that to Mr. Stockton. See how far you get.”

  “But he won’t be back here until November or December.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How are we supposed to build a church and find a preacher that late in the year? Winter will be upon us soon.”

  “Probably already have snow.”

  Everything Pearl had imagined about this place had been completely wrong. This wasn’t a tidy little town with picket fences and friendly storekeepers. It was a frontier company town with little sign of advancement.

  “Well, then,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “if no one else will do anything, it’s up to me.”

  She would find someplace for a proper church, even if it meant using the schoolhouse.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the course of the following week, the schoolhouse shaped up nicely. To Pearl’s surprise, Fiona and Louise did pitch in to clean up the place. By Friday, her three workers headed off on other ventures. Louise left with book in hand for a “nature tour” of the nearby dune. Fiona disappeared with Mrs. Calloway into the kitchen. Amanda wanted to finish the dress and matching doll dress for Sadie, having learned that the little girl’s birthday was on Sunday.

  Pearl stood alone inside the school and surveyed the progress. In addition to the thorough scrubbing and the repaired roof and privy, a new blackboard hung at the front of the room. Even the woodstove looked fresh after a good cleaning. The slates had been scrubbed, and Mr. Farmingham delivered dozens of sticks of new chalk. If only she had books. A globe or map would be helpful, too, but that might come later.

  Roland burst through the door carrying a large pail in one hand and a roll of oil cloth under the other arm.

  “A gift.” He set the pail on her desk with that sheepish little-boy expression that melted her resolve. “Can you forgive me for not thanking you appropriately for your help with the store?”

  She hesitated. “What did you bring?”

  “Paint. For the walls.”

  Though she and the ladies had attempted to clean the plaster, they couldn’t do much to remove the years of grimy fingerprints and the soot from the woodstove. Paint would make a huge difference.

  “You have paint here?” She’d seen little evidence of it except for the boardinghouse porch railing and some trim at the hotel.

  “I can mix up as much as you want, as long as it’s white.”

  She had to laugh. “White will be perfect. It’ll brighten up the place.”

  “Then am I forgiven?”

  In the days since their falling-out at the store, she had found it impossible to stay angry with him. He’d carried a sleepy Sadie home after Sunday’s church service. She’d spotted him tossing a ball with Isaac. It didn’t hurt that Mrs. Calloway gave her recommendation of him each and every day, but those boyish grins of his did her in.

  He perched on one of the student tables waiting for her answer.

  She ran a finger around the rim of the pail. She tried to scowl, but she just couldn’t do it. The laugh that had been building burst out. “All right, I accept your apology.”

  He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out two paintbrushes and extended them toward her, bouquet style. “For you.”

  She stifled a smile. He might figure he was back on solid ground with her, but she wasn’t ready to let him off completely. “Do you always treat the ladies this way?”

  “Only the ones I like.”

  “Oh, so now you’re playing favorite with the teacher.”

  His grin broadened. “You’ll give me a passing grade?”

  Their teasing repartee made her laugh, but she had to feign a scowl or he’d think he could get away with bad behavior. “You will need to do more than offer me a gift that requires labor.”

  “Ah, labor.” He slipped off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I am at your service. Just point the way.”

  “You? Paint?” She surveyed his fine suit. “You’re not dressed properly.”

  “You seem to think I’ll get paint on my suit.”

  “I have no doubt you will.”

  “Would you care to put that to a test, Miss Lawson?”

  She stood a little taller. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Decker?”

  “I’m willing to claim that I can paint that section of the wall without getting one drop of paint on my clothing.” He pointed to a two-foot strip from ceiling to floor.

  “Prove it.”

  He held up a finger. “I’m not finished. I suggest that I can do this work better and faster than you. I will paint the strip on this side of the window, and you paint on that side.”

  She eyed the two sections. “They are equal in size, but how do I know you won’t flick a drop of paint on my skirt?”

  “Moi?” He made an elaborate bow. “My lady’s suggestion offends me.”

  “All the French and fancy manners in the world won’t convince me.”

  “Very well, then, if any paint should end up on the other person by virtue of nefarious means—”

  “Meaning you put it on me.”

  “Or you on me. As I said, if any paint should end up on our persons from the competitor, the offending party shall be disqualified.”

  “Fair. But what will I win when I defeat you?”

  “Confident, are you?”

  “I’ll have you know that I whitewashed many a wall in the—” She caught herself just in time. Roland did not need to know that she’d grown up in an orphanage and that much of her last years there had been spent toiling. “I’ve whitewashed many a wall in the past.”

  He must have caught the change in her tone, though, for he sobered. “Very well, Miss Lawson. If you win, I will provide sufficient primers for your students.”

  She drew in her breath. “You will?” This was the answer to her prayers.

  The grin returned. “Now the only question is what prize I will receive when I win.”

  “You aren’t going to win.” He couldn’t. She needed those primers.

  “Ah, but in the unthinkable event that I do best you, I must receive a prize.”

  She searched her scattered thoughts. She had nothing to offer him. Other than her Bible and clothing, she owned nothing. Even her schoolbooks had been borrowed and long ago returned. “I don’t have anything you’d want.”

  “Perhaps you do.” He touched a finger to her chin and tipped up her face so she looked right in his eyes.

  The thrill of his touch left her breathless. His gaze had softened, the teasing gone. She moved her lips to ask what that was.

  He smiled. “A token for a gentleman.” He brushed a finger across her lips, making his intent perfectly clear.

  She felt the flush clear to the roots of her hair. “Mr. Decker!”

  “Roland. A friendly gesture. That’s all.”

  He made it sound so unimportant, and perhaps it was for him. Not for her. Certainly not for her.

  But she needed those primers and had nothing else to offer. If she won, she need never give him the kiss he desired. She straightened her shoulders and stuck out her hand. “Very well, Roland. You have a deal.”

  * * *

  Roland felt her hesitation. He had asked too much. He might have requested a walk on the lakesh
ore instead, but her nearness made him giddy enough to ask for more.

  When she’d stiffened and stuck out her hand to shake on the deal, he knew he couldn’t force a kiss any more than he’d been able to force Eva to love him. Gifts brought gratitude, but not love. He had no idea what would win over a woman’s heart, but he could afford to be patient. If what Pearl said was true, she couldn’t consider marriage for the year of her teaching contract.

  Maybe courting didn’t count. He intended to find out.

  He also did not intend to lose this competition. What had possessed him to offer to buy the primers? That would take a chunk of money out of his glassworks project, money he’d set aside from his wages since coming to Singapore. At first he’d intended to save enough to leave the town and his brother’s family behind. Now he could not let Eva’s death mean nothing. For the sake of her children, he had to make Singapore into the vibrant town he had once promised her it would become.

  “Who is going to judge us?” Pearl asked.

  Roland pulled his attention back to the present and the spunky lady beside him. She had stuck a handkerchief into the neck of her dress like a napkin.

  He pointed to the handkerchief. “That counts as clothing, too.”

  “A handkerchief is not clothing, as you well know.”

  “No gentleman would leave the house without one.”

  The corners of her mouth teased upward. “Do you consider yourself a gentleman?”

  “Ouch!” He mocked being struck in the heart. “You’ve wounded me.”

  “Very well, Mr. Decker.” She whipped off the handkerchief and shoved it into her apron pocket. “No handkerchief.”

  “And the apron counts as clothing.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then shall we begin?”

  She crossed her arms. “Not until we have a fair and impartial judge. Amanda, perhaps.”

  “Your friend. I nominate my brother.”

  “Completely biased.”

  “Charlie, then.”

  “He’s watching the store,” she pointed out.