The Blue Ribbon Brides Collection

by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene

  “Good,” she said. “You can’t keep this up for three weeks. You need a job. Better yet, go home.”

  “Three weeks is no time at all when you’re with the woman you love.” He winked. “Besides, the way to win a girl’s heart is through her hat.”

  “I’m fairly certain that’s not how the saying goes,” she said with some enjoyment.

  “It’s not?” He gave her a bland look. “Then I shall have to find some other way to court you.” He gripped her arms then lifted her out of the way so he could unlock the door. “I know you aren’t in love with me. I know I’ve done a poor job conveying my feelings. I love you, and I will do whatever necessary to convince you my love is true. Now let’s get to work. Your boutique needs to be ready for its grand opening.”

  Reba watched as he unlocked then opened the door. He smiled, motioning her inside. She smiled. Whatever had come over Levi—well, she liked it. Clearly Father had been wrong. Men could change.

  Late afternoon

  Saturday, November 6

  Levi crossed his arms and leaned against the workroom’s threshold as Reba spoke with the last customer in the boutique. She seemed like someone of importance, with her mannerisms and air. The two women stood at the full-length mirror. The statuesque brunette tipped her head left then right, evaluating the gold silk ribbon covering the black straw hat. Reba stood on the footstool she needed when attending to a tall customer. In her hand she held an assortment of hat pins from the Sterling Company in Rhode Island. Not that the name had meant anything to him. “Refined ladies,” Reba had explained, “would know.”

  Apparently so, because she’d sold all but the four in her hand.

  She’d even sold the enameled sets that came in velvet-lined presentation boxes with DIEHL’S FINE MILLINERY imprinted on the satin. He’d never thought of giving her hat pins. Nor would he have guessed that most of those presentation boxed sets would be purchased by men to give to their sweethearts. In all the times he’d been in Reba’s boutique, he’d never seen a male customer. Mr. Diehl had been right: women liked pretty things. And if anything could be said about Reba’s boutique, pretty was an apt description.

  He glanced about the millinery, impressed at the sight. He’d visited the two other millineries in Sioux Falls, but neither of them were on the main thoroughfare through town, nor were they decorated as elegantly as Reba’s. Neither smelled of flowers. Reba’s did because she’d placed potted orchids around the room. What woman wouldn’t want to shop at a boutique like Diehl’s Fine Millinery? Clearly, enough of them in Sioux Falls did. After six day of sales, all but four hats had sold. If Reba kept selling at this pace, she’d be out of stock by noon on Monday. Deservedly so.

  She wasn’t only good at making hats. She thrived at selling them.

  Reba knew how to sell beauty because, ever since he could remember, Reba had sought beauty, had drawn beauty to her. It was no wonder she wanted more than life on a farm. It was no wonder she wanted more than to be the wife of a dairyman.

  Ma had been right—Reba would never fall in love with him as long as he thought her dreams were unimportant and her hard work was nothing more than a hobby. He had to support and encourage her. But if he did that, and her millinery continued to succeed, then she would never come home with him. He was a dairyman, not a city slicker.

  How could he compete with all of this?

  Laughter came from the front of the shop.

  His stomach turning sour, Levi ducked into the workroom. He sank onto the chair beside Reba’s workbench and leaned forward, his head in his hands. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He’d compared the prices of her hats, pins, and sundry items against the prices at the Bee Hive Department Store next door. Everything she sold was more expensive. A few items were even twice the price!

  With sales like this, there’d be no reason for her to close the millinery in three months. No reason for her to come home with him.

  The bell tied on the front doorknob jingled. After a pause, it jingled again.

  The customer must have left.

  Levi checked his watch. Sixteen minutes after five. He released a wry chuckle. This was the earliest she’d closed all week.

  Reba dashed into the workroom.

  Levi stood, opened his mouth to speak, then—

  BAM!

  She hugged him tight. “She bought my hat! Oh, Levi! I couldn’t believe it was her—did you see her? Did you? She’s as beautiful as a Gibson Girl, and she bought my hat.” Reba released him. She lifted her hands over her head and twirled like she was six instead of twenty-three. “This is the best day ever!”

  Levi nodded. “I can see that.”

  Reba clasped his arm then bent over, her face red and splotchy as she gasped for air. “Oh, my goodness, oh, my goodness. My heart feels like it’s going to explode.”

  “Who was she?”

  “Musical Selection.”

  “Huh?”

  She burst out laughing.

  Levi stared in awe. He’d never seen her so elated. He swerved her over to the chair and nudged her into sitting. “Catch your breath and explain.”

  Reba’s lips formed an O, and she released her breath slowly. Her face returned to its normal color. “For my fifteenth birthday, Father took me to Germania Hall. That woman was the first performer. She was listed as ‘Musical Selection.’ Today, Miss Claire Van Dyke is the headline performer at the New Theater. She bought my hat. Do you realize what this means?”

  “Women will want your hats because Miss Van Dyke wears one?”

  “Exactly!” Standing, she gripped his arms. “I hoped to sell through my inventory after three months. Father said six months was more realistic, which was why he advised I sign a six-month lease, but I’ve almost sold out in six days. Can you believe it? Miss Van Dyke ordered two more. Several singers she knows in St. Paul will be here next month. She suggested I stock up because her friends love to shop.”

  “That’s great. You’re really good at making hats.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  Levi shrugged. He was surprised at her skill, at how quickly her business was succeeding, and at how unsettled that made him feel. “My news isn’t as exciting, but I got the job at the John Deere Plow Company. I start Monday. It’s only inventorying right now, but—”

  Reba squealed and hugged him tight. “I’ve been praying that God would open the door if it was His will for you to stay in Sioux Falls. This is exactly what we need.”

  Levi grinned. Not I need. We need.

  She tilted her head to the side in a bashful manner. Then she smiled, which was all the encouragement he needed. Hoping she couldn’t see his hands shake, he cupped her face and brushed his lips against hers. She didn’t respond by kissing him back, but neither did she pull away. Instead, she sighed. And so he kissed her again. This time she responded.

  If he’d only kissed her months—years—ago, they’d be married already and could—

  Levi drew back a little too abruptly. “Uh, we should eat. Supper. Go now—the, uh, restaurant down the street … they … I made reservations.”

  She frowned at him. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?” he echoed.

  “I have orders I need to fill. I can’t eat. I need to make more hats.” She glanced around the room, nipping at her bottom lip. “There’s so much to do.”

  Levi nodded. “I’ll bring something back here for us to share.”

  “Thank you.”

  As they walked to the front door, something pricked at his mind. Something she’d said about—

  “Did you say you signed a six-month lease?”

  She stopped at the door. “October 6 to April 6.”

  “Six months? I can’t stay here that long.”

  She looked like she was about to say something but then thought better of it. “How long did you plan on staying?”

  “Three months.”

  She nodded slowly, her expression losing its joy. “Go home, Levi. I won’t
change my mind. I’m not giving up my millinery because I enjoyed kissing you.”

  He stepped outside yet blocked her from closing the door. “Reba Diehl, I’m not giving up on you. I’ll escort you to church in the morning.”

  Chapter 7

  “No matter whether a city be under siege, a country perplexed with overwhelming questions of national well-being, or a nation plunged in the awful intricacies of war, Fashion still holds her sway, changing with surprising rapidity, in spite of obstacles of never such appalling magnitude!”

  —Practical Millinery

  Diehl Fine Millinery

  Wednesday, December 30, 1908

  Yes, Levi, I’m writing it down.” Reba shifted the telephone to her left ear, raising her shoulder to hold it in place. She yawned. Blinked her eyes to chase the blurriness away in order to finish another batch of silk leaves. As she wrote on the notepad, she read aloud her handwriting. “Dinner. Six p.m. I promise I won’t forget this time.”

  “I also have tickets for—”

  The bell on the door jingled twice.

  “Oh,” she gasped, cutting him off. “I have a customer.” Finally. “Good-bye.” She dropped the headset into the base and the pen onto the notepad. After a quick check to ensure her dress was free of loose threads and clingy silk scraps, she hurried into the boutique. “Good morning and welcome to Diehl’s Fine—” Reba stopped abruptly. “Oh, Mrs. Wright, what a lovely surprise.”

  “I don’t mind snow, but wind … brrr. It’s near freezing out there.” Mrs. Wright tucked a manila envelope under her arm then removed her gloves. Her cheeks and nose were red. The snowflakes on her woolen coat and fur hat quickly disappeared.

  Reba met the older woman at the center display table. “At least it’s not a blizzard. What kind of hat can I interest you in today? I have a new assortment of hat pins from London.”

  Mrs. Wright’s gaze shifted about the millinery. She had to notice how thin the displays were. Did she realize the number of potted plants having taken over spaces formerly occupied by hats? While Diehl’s Fine Millinery wasn’t devoid of stock, inventory was a fraction of what she should have available. To have product to sell, Reba needed to hire someone to work the boutique while she focused on hat construction, but she couldn’t afford to hire someone without dipping into the next six months’ budget. She may have to make a compromise. Ladies couldn’t buy a hat if there weren’t any hats available. And with Easter only months away—

  “Is something wrong?” asked Mrs. Wright.

  “No, no, no. I was—it’s nothing. How are you?”

  Mrs. Wright’s face lit up. “I’m doing wonderfully. For Christmas, Mr. Wright took me to see our youngest son in Cedar Rapids. Our daughter-in-law is expecting their first.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “And congratulations to you. Word is, Diehl’s Fine Millinery makes the most superb hats in all of Sioux Falls. I had to come by and see your boutique.”

  “Thank you.” Reba turned to face the shelves filled now with folded yards of fabric instead of hats. “I do have a few hats in stock, but most ladies elect to place orders. The first step is to decide on colors. If you’d like to peruse the silks, I’ll go—”

  “I’m not here to buy anything.”

  Reba’s smile fell. Why would the dean of Home Economics at Sioux Falls College come to her millinery if she didn’t want a hat? A sinking feeling spread throughout her belly.

  The scholarship.

  “I meant to respond to your letter,” Reba blurted. “Truly I did, but after the fair, I had to start packing for the move. It slipped from my mind.”

  Mrs. Wright motioned to the Queen Anne chairs in the sitting area. “Could we?”

  “Oh, of course.” Reba followed Mrs. Wright to the red velvet chairs. “It was wrong of me not to notify you I was turning down the scholarship,” she said as they were seated. “I’m deeply sorry.”

  Mrs. Wright laid the envelope on her lap and placed her gloves on top. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t accept it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but”—she shrugged—“college isn’t for me. This millinery is my heart’s desire.”

  “I can tell.” Mrs. Wright looked impressed as she again glanced about the room. “It’s exquisite. There’s nothing like it in Sioux Falls. I like how you used the 60-30-10 principle.”

  “60-30-10?”

  “Sixty percent red, thirty percent white, and ten percent gold.” She laid the manila envelope on the marble-topped coffee table. “You brought in texture with the walnut center table and smell with the orchids and potted plants. You have a natural decorating sense.” She slid the envelope across the table. “I want you to reconsider your decision.”

  Reba looked at the envelope but didn’t take it. “I don’t want to go to college.”

  “Why not?” Mrs. Wright said, her tone gentle.

  “I don’t enjoy cooking or canning or cleaning house. I don’t want to take classes in household management.” She leaned forward to nudge the envelope back to Mrs. Wright. “Making hats brings me joy. This is what I want to do.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Mrs. Wright nodded her head slowly, like Father did when he was thinking of a response.

  Reba shifted in her chair.

  “I was here opening day,” said Mrs. Wright.

  “I didn’t see you.”

  “You were too busy taking money.”

  Reba glanced at her watch. Eleven fifteen. She needed to get back to work.

  Mrs. Wright continued with: “You aren’t as busy taking money anymore, are you?”

  Reba managed not to choke. How did she know? She couldn’t know. But the question was too pointed for her not to reply, “Customers prefer customizing.”

  “Do they prefer it”—Mrs. Wright paused—“or is it a matter of they have no choice?”

  A heavy sigh was all Reba had in response.

  Mrs. Wright eyed her measuringly. “There’s not enough time to make the hats needed to keep up with demand without skimping on quality, and that’s something you can’t do. You had to decrease your business hours from six days a week, nine to five, to Wednesday through Saturday, noon to five, to have time to work on orders. Yet even with more time to focus on hat making, you keep having to lengthen the amount of time to fill an order. Inventory is low. Customers are becoming more dissatisfied. Word is spreading. Consequently, fewer customers stop in, and custom orders continue to decrease. By the look on your face, I can tell you are wondering how I know this.”

  Of course she wanted to know! But admitting it was another thing.

  Mrs. Wright leaned forward and slid the envelope back to Reba. “After my mother’s death, I helped my father manage his bakery. Once he passed away, I sold it, because I knew I didn’t have the skills, talents, or abilities a successful business owner needs. I hated the long work hours and little sleep. It’s not joyful living, is it?”

  Reba swallowed an indignant humph.

  “Bring the enrollment papers to my office next week. Classes start February 1.”

  “I have a business to manage.”

  “Take two credit hours a week, and open your shop only on Fridays and Saturdays.”

  “This is a business, not a hobby.”

  “How long can you keep it afloat?”

  “All new businesses struggle the first year,” Reba said in her defense. “Come spring, I’ll be able to hire help. Winter is always a slow period for sales.”

  Mrs. Wright stared at Reba for a long moment. “Well, then …” She stood, pulling on her gloves, and walked to the door. “You have time to change your mind.”

  Reba followed her. “I’m flattered by the offer.”

  Mrs. Wright reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Reba’s ear. “I know making hats brings you joy. Take a look in the mirror and ask yourself if running a business does. Does paying bills and ordering supplies fit your talents and abilities?”


  Reba said nothing at all.

  As Mrs. Wright left the shop, a burst of wintery air bit at Reba’s face. She quickly closed the door. Crossing her arms and rubbing them, she hurried to the potbellied stove at the back of the boutique. She added a scoop of coal then sat on a nearby footstool to enjoy the warmth. She didn’t have to look in a mirror to know she looked ragged. She felt it. Her parents had never seemed the worse for wear on only six hours of sleep a night. Right now she would give anything for six hours of slumber.

  What a fool she’d been to think she understood what it took to manage a business! She should have listened to Father and to Mr. Smyth. Maybe they were right. Maybe she should have opened a smaller shop in a less expensive part of town. Maybe she should have asked Levi for business advice. Or hired him to manage the accounting.

  Reba’s eyes burned with unshed tears. Her chin trembled, yet she fought the urge to break down. “I don’t understand, God. You promised whatever I asked for in Your name would be given to me. I took the time to figure out Your will. I know You opened this door. It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be abundant.” Her voice choked. “You promised abundance.”

  That doesn’t mean immediately, she reminded herself.

  Right. Hard work and patience. And if push came to shove, she could dip into her savings and hire a shopgirl. Maybe an accountant.

  Reba took a deep breath. “It’ll work out,” she said in a firm voice. “I’ll find a way to make it work.” She pushed off the footstool and headed straight to the workroom.

  The time for crying and moping had passed. She had hats to make.

  Chapter 8

  “Never put more stitches than are absolutely necessary to keep the material in place.”

  —Practical Millinery

  John Deere Plow Company

  Monday, midafternoon, February 8, 1909

  We’ll bring it to Parker by train next week.” As another gust of wind rattled the windows, Levi stepped around his desk to shake Mr. Olander’s hand. Selling to their neighbor to the east of the Webber farm was the easiest sale thus far. “It’s a great tractor. I’m sure my father will be over to try it out. He’d like a new tractor but needs a cornstalk chopper more.”