“No, no. Leave those things be. These will come first.” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “You have a customer.”
Rebecca glanced up. “A customer?”
“Yes. She came into my shop this morning with these.” Fabric rustled softly when she lifted her arm to indicate the dresses. “She would like them altered.” Mrs. Evans lowered her voice and leaned forward. “And she will pay four dollars per garment.”
Rebecca drew in a breath. “Four dollars!” The amount would raise the balance in her fund to almost twenty-five dollars.
And then her enthusiasm deflated.
That still leaves more than seventy-five to go.
The amount seemed unreachable. She lifted her hands and stared forlornly at her reddened fingertips. Perhaps she should resign herself to spending the entire three months in jail.
Mrs. Evans’ expression became concerned. “What’s wrong, dear? Don’t you want to do the alterations?”
“Yes.” She didn’t intend to speak in such a morose tone. “Of course I will do them. I am grateful for the work and for everything that has been done on my behalf.”
An understanding look softened the gaze the elderly woman turned on her. “A hundred dollars does seem like an insurmountable obstacle, doesn’t it?”
Rebecca nodded. A recent worry returned to nag at her. She swallowed against a gathering lump of tears.
“What if Mr. Diggs returns with my Jesse and I am still here?” Her gaze swept her surroundings. She did not relish the idea of delivering her well-rehearsed marriage proposal in a jail cell.
“I had hoped the fund-raising efforts would have had more effect by now,” Mrs. Evans admitted. “But the people of Lawrence are not, by and large, a wealthy lot. If I had not just paid to replace the front window in my shop, I would have more to contribute myself…”
The kind face looked so troubled that Rebecca hurried to reassure her with a hand on her arm. “You have done far more than anyone to help a needful stranger. You have become my friend. Without you, I would have no one.” The last words came out with a choke. Friend. She thought of Emma. How she wished she could visit with her sister and cry on her shoulder.
“There, there, dear. Don’t take on so.” A secretive smile played about the wrinkled lips. “I have an idea or two. In the meantime, I think you will enjoy testing the limits of your skills with a needle. Certainly you have never done work like this.”
She dropped one dress across a neatly made bunk and held up the other, a lovely royal blue, for Rebecca’s inspection. With a noisy intake of breath, Rebecca stared at the garment. It was covered in more frills and lace than she had ever seen. Bows cascaded down the back to end in a splash of ruffles. The neckline dipped low, and heat flooded her face as she visualized how the garment would look on a living woman.
She reached out a hesitant hand to finger the silky fabric and felt almost sinful simply for touching the luxurious cloth.
“Who owns this…garment?”
“A young woman who puts more stock in decency than some would think.” Mrs. Evans turned at the sound of the door opening. “Ah, here she is now.”
When Rebecca caught the first sight of her customer, the burning in her face increased. John leaped to his feet, his mouth gaping, and the chair fell with a crash behind him. The woman who entered the room didn’t so much walk as flounce through the doorway.
“There you are, my dear.” Mrs. Evans extended a hand toward her. “Come and meet Rebecca.”
Though she had only seen her once before, Rebecca knew the newcomer instantly. She was the woman from the saloon. Today her blond curls weren’t arranged on top of her head, and her lips weren’t covered in bright red paint as they had been the night of the confrontation that landed Rebecca in jail. Her clothing was almost decent, though the starched white blouse did nothing to hide a figure that caused John’s jaw to dangle.
Her gaze circled the room as she stepped inside the cell.
“Land sakes! Would ya look at this place?”
“Rebecca,” Mrs. Evans said, “this is Sassy. I don’t believe you two have met.”
The girl turned a cautious look on Rebecca. “Not officially.”
Rebecca recovered her manners and bobbed in a brief curtsey, dipping her head. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance.”
A smile flashed onto Sassy’s face and disappeared just as quickly. “I’m sorry for your trouble.” She turned in a circle, taking in her surroundings, and then she gave a low whistle. “At least you got some pretty things to brighten up the place. Better’n what I have in my room.”
In spite of herself, Rebecca found herself fascinated by her visitor. She’d never been this close to a saloon girl before. Up close she was younger than she’d looked the night of Rebecca’s arrival in Lawrence. They were probably close to the same age. Her words took an odd shape as they rolled off her tongue, low and husky and twice as long as normal. The sound was similar to the way Rebecca remembered Jesse speaking.
“Sassy hails from Texas,” Mrs. Evans said.
Rebecca brightened. “I have friends who are from Texas.”
“Yeah?” Sassy stooped to run a finger over the fine stitches on a pillow. “What part?”
“I don’t know. They drive cattle from Texas to Kansas.”
“Cowboys?” The girl straightened, a wide grin on her face. “Sounds like my kind of folks. My daddy was a cowhand.” Her grin faded. “Leastways, that’s what Mama always said. I never met him.”
“Girls, I must get back to my shop.” Mrs. Evans thrust the silky dress at Rebecca. “Now that you’ve met, I daresay you can work out whatever needs to be done between you.”
After she had gone, an uneasy silence settled between the two girls. Rebecca cast about for a pleasantry, and Sassy seemed equally ill at ease without Mrs. Evans to serve as a buffer. She straightened the pillow she’d been examining and then smoothed a crease out of the soft bed covering. Her glance strayed around the room without meeting Rebecca’s eye, and she gave an awkward little cough. Seeing the other girl’s nervousness did a great deal to soothe Rebecca’s.
“You would like me to alter the dress?” She grasped the garment by the shoulders and held it out before her.
“That’s right. Mrs. Evans said you’re right handy with a needle, and maybe you could do something with it.”
Rebecca gave the dress a little shake, which brought the myriad ruffles and bows to life. She was almost afraid to ask her next question.
“What would you have me do?”
“Well, it’s like this. When Mr. Colter hired me—that’s Ed, the man who runs the Dollar. Do you know Ed?”
Ed. The large man who had forced the confrontation that ended up with her in jail. Rebecca had not seen him since the disastrous morning in court five days ago.
Sassy didn’t wait for an answer. “No, I s’pose you don’t. No matter. When Ed hired me for this here job, he said it came with room, board, and a whole wardrobe of clothes. There I was, fresh up from Texas with no more’n a couple of skirts in my bag, and them fairly worn through at the hem. The pay was good, and since I’d spent almost everything my poor mama left me when she passed getting up here, I said yes. But take a look.”
She took the dress from Rebecca’s hands and held it against her body. With one hand at the shoulders and the other across her narrow waist, Rebecca instantly spotted the problem. Either the dress had been made for a woman of smaller proportions than Sassy, or the original wearer had possessed no shred of morality.
“Ed says I should wear them dresses the way they are and quit my complaining because it’ll be good for business. But I promised my mama I’d make a decent life for myself, and this ain’t decent.”
On that, she and Rebecca were in complete agreement. She gathered the sweeping skirt in her hands and eyed the length.
“It might be possible to add a collar,” she suggested.
Sassy’s eyes brightened. “Yeah. Something like that. Only…” Her gaze
swept Rebecca’s black dress, and an apologetic smile flashed on and off. “Not quite so plain as yours. I can’t see Ed standin’ for that, and I can’t afford to lose this job yet.”
Rebecca gazed at the dress’s narrow waist, the decorative stitching around the low neck, the cascading ruffles. It would take a far more skillful needle than hers to turn this garish garment into a dress plain enough for an Amish woman. But perhaps she could give it a semblance of decency.
What would Maummi say if she heard her granddaughter was doing needlework for a saloon girl? Rebecca had no doubt that her grandmother disapproved of saloons as much as Mrs. Diggs and the other women of the movement. But Mrs. Evans had brought Sassy here. And at four dollars per dress, could she turn her away?
“What do you do at the saloon?”
“I sing. Someday I’m going to New York City, where I aim to be a famous actress.”
“Actress?” Rebecca had only a vague idea of the word, and she couldn’t even remember where she had heard it.
“My mama told me before she passed that I’d better do something with my voice and my looks, ’cause I sure didn’t have nothin’ else goin’ for me, and I decided right then and there that as soon as I could, I’d head for New York City.” She lowered her voice and her eyes glowed. “After that, I might even go to England.”
Why anyone would want to go to England, Rebecca couldn’t imagine. It sounded so far away. But how could she not admire a girl with such a lofty goal? At the moment the only aspirations she had involved raising another seventy-five dollars and reuniting with Jesse so she could return to her Plain life in Apple Grove.
She gestured toward the dress. “You had best put it on.”
Sassy turned her head with a pointed stare. Rebecca followed her gaze and realized that the deputy stood staring at them.
“Could we have some privacy, darlin’?” Sassy tossed her head, a pretty dimple appearing on her cheek when she reached for the top button on her blouse. “Unless you think your wife wouldn’t mind your sticking around for this part.”
Though Rebecca’s cheeks flamed at the girl’s boldness, she couldn’t stop grinning over the speed with which the deputy vacated the jailhouse.
When Colin turned the corner and saw John standing outside in front of the jail, his teeth clamped together with an irritated snap. Annie or Mrs. Evans or one of the others had kicked him out, as they did with increasing regularity. The situation had gotten out of hand and it had to stop. He stretched his stride and covered the ground at a near run.
“I thought I told you to keep an eye on things in there.”
“But there’s women’s stuff going on. It wouldn’t be right for a man to be in the room.” John lowered his voice and confided, “Besides, Bertha would skin me alive if she heard I saw Miss Sassy in her skivvies.”
Colin paused. “Sassy? What’s she doing here?”
“Miss Rebecca’s fixing up a dress for her.”
“She’s doing what?”
“You heard me. She’s in there trying it on right now.”
A loud grating filled Colin’s ears, and it took a moment to realize it was his teeth grinding together.
“That’s it,” he snapped, reaching for the door. “I’m putting a stop to this right now.”
“Now, don’t go getting all riled up, Colin. They ain’t botherin’ a thing.”
“I’m not putting up with turning this jail into a woman’s dress shop, John. Are you with me or not?”
Colin put a hand over his eyes, jerked the door open, and stepped inside, John following close on his heels.
“Ladies? We’re coming in!”
“That’s fine with us,” Rebecca replied calmly.
Dropping his hand, the sheriff spotted Rebecca kneeling on the floor before a blue-clad figure, her head bent as she fingered the hem of a wide skirt, the laces of her prayer kapp dangling. Wearing the dress, Sassy stood erect on a chair, her back to the door, a thick mass of blond curls hanging down her back.
She grinned over her shoulder. “How do, Sheriff.”
“Now, look, ladies. I don’t know what’s going on here, but—” Sassy turned on the chair to face him. Heat crept up his neck to create an uncomfortable moisture beneath his collar.
“Nothing’s going on, ’cept we’ve been getting to know each other.” Sassy put her hands on her hips and gave her hair a toss. “You ought to be ashamed, Sheriff, locking a sweet girl like this in the stockade. Why, did you know her mama passed, just like mine?”
Whatever demands he’d planned to make died. He tore his gaze away from the sight of Sassy in the indecent dress. When he half turned to stare at the wall he caught sight of John’s bulging eyes. Awarding him a stern glare, he knocked the back of the deputy’s hat over his eyes as Rebecca rose from her kneeling position and casually picked up a shawl. She draped the garment across Sassy’s shoulders and closed it in the front. Then she straightened to face him, hands folded serenely in front of her. When Colin glanced back into the cell, he caught the hint of a smile on her lips, and a flush rose up to his face.
“I am hired to alter this dress,” she informed him in the calm tone he had come to recognize as Rebecca when she knew she’d confounded him. “I thought adding a collar might be attractive.”
He swallowed.
“Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“Collar? Yes. Fine.”
“That’s what I’ll do. Add a small but attractive collar. Thank you ever so much for your help.”
Colin turned on his boot heel and John started to argue. “But I thought you said—”
Colin silenced his deputy with a look. “They’re adding a collar, John. Let’s go over to the diner and get a cup of coffee.”
“Women,” John was heard to utter before the door closed.
FOURTEEN
Amos Beiler hefted his end of the long board and placed it above the previous one. With strong hands he pounded the pegs in place. The sound of hammers cracking against wood rose into the clear Kansas sky. When they finished, he grabbed the board and gave it a tug. It held firm, and he exchanged a smile with Jonas Switzer, who occupied the place next to him.
Jonas braced himself on the crossbeam to peer down the length of the pitched roof. “Die scheier schee, ja?”
“Ja,” Amos agreed. A fine barn they were building for John Hostetler.
Satisfaction settled over Amos as his glance roved the half-finished barn and down to the ground, where women bustled around long tables in the yard. Here, among his friends, with his hands busy and his mind focused on the task at hand, he felt at peace. He could set aside for a while the dull ache of loneliness that was his constant companion when he worked his fields in solitude.
A slight figure exited the house carrying a laden platter of warmly browned loaves. With a start he realized the girl was his daughter Sarah. When had she begun to look like a woman in miniature? With obvious care she walked slowly across the grass toward the table. A pair of boys raced past her, one chasing the other, and she raised the platter above her head while voicing a sharp reprimand. The boys obediently slowed for a few paces, and then, once out of reach, took off again at a run. Shaking her head, she continued to the table.
It was such an adult gesture, that shaking of the head. Not yet ten years old, Sarah conscientiously performed many of the tasks that should have been learned at her mother’s side. Amos lifted his face to the sun, blinking. He did his best to do right by his children, laboring on his farm to keep food in their mouths. They worked hard at their chores, even Celia and little Karl, as was proper for an Amish family. His children would learn the discipline of hard work and the satisfaction of a task completed. But they would not learn a mother’s devotion. That was one thing he could not provide for them.
Nor could he provide for himself the thing he wanted with deep and desperate longing: a wife with whom to share his life. For a while he had entertained the hope that one of Jonas’s daughters might be willing to fill t
he role. Alas, God intended otherwise. Emma married an Englischman, and Rebecca did not return his interest.
A call came from below, and another long board was lifted up. Amos grabbed the end and fed the length of it down the line until the men were able to station it firmly above the other. When he applied his hammer, he spared a thought for the man beside him. If his thoughts were troubled today, Jonas’s must be doubly so. It had been eight days since Rebecca ran off. Amos had heard she’d left in the night, leaving a brief letter to explain her actions. Had they further word of her? He wanted to ask, but a glance at Jonas’s expressionless face stilled the question. Some things a man must suffer alone.
A bell rang, drawing him from his thoughts. The tables below were full to overflowing with food, and the women gathered about, shooing flies and children away with their hands.
“Come, Amos.” Jonas hooked the head of his hammer over the edge of the board they had just secured. “The meal is ready and in good time. Hard work leaves a man hoongerich.”
Amos dismissed his thoughts and slapped Jonas on the back. “A bountiful meal we enjoy today, my friend.”
They climbed down the posts they had erected early in the morning and soon were surrounded by hungry men near one end of a long table. Bishop Miller waited until the last worker had joined them, and when the entire assembly had gathered, he bowed his head. Amos did the same, the German words of a familiar prayer of blessing rising from his mind heavenward on silent wings. The silence of prayer, and the awe of knowing that the Almighty bent His ear close to hear the humble words of a lowly man, had sustained him through many a hard time. Prayer had been Amos’s only safeguard against the devastating grief of loss when his wife died, and against wrenching loneliness in the years since.
The sound of shuffling feet alerted him to the end of the prayer. He looked up to find those men nearest the table beginning to fill their plates from the endless line of steaming bowls. The women stood along the opposite side, hovering over the food. Their happy chatter filled the air and settled a feeling of community on the meal. A glance to the far end told him that Sarah had taken charge of her sister and brother. He caught his daughter’s eye and rewarded her with a smile and a nod.
A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove) Page 12
