The man glanced at the Fox Dress Shop sign over the door, and a look of dismay crossed his face before he reined it in with a taut smile. “Then I’ll let your client choose the replacements.”
“You would do that?” Ruth tried to wrap her mind around such generosity. “But it isn’t your fault, and Mrs. Vanderloo is quite particular.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that suggested he smiled often. “Of course she is. But together we can persuade her that it’s to her best advantage to accept the replacements.”
Together? He was going to go to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house with her?
She must have been standing with her mouth agape, because that smile of his turned into a grin.
“I ran into you,” he said. “It’s only fair that I offer the apology.” He extended an arm. “Shall we?”
Ruth couldn’t breathe. This handsome, wealthy stranger wanted to escort her down Main Street in front of everyone. No man had ever done that, and this one didn’t even know her. Such a thing was not done. Tongues would wag. Ruth pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and pretended to check her hat in the window. Behind her, the stranger still held the dresses, and inside the shop her sisters grinned like monkeys.
They thought she was flirting.
She whirled away from the window and straight into the arms of the handsome man. Oh, no! She’d done it again.
“I’m sorry.” She backed away, her face blazing hot. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close. I—I was just checking my hat.” She patted it for emphasis.
The elegant suit, the gold cuff links, the silk handkerchief. A man like him would never be interested in a wallflower like her.
“You look quite presentable.” His easy smile warmed her in the most unnerving way.
It was just a compliment, she told herself. Nothing more. She was the one who’d let reason fly away on the wind. No doubt Jen’s ridiculous marriage idea had precipitated such lunacy. He just happened to match her criteria exactly. What if...? Ruth shook her head. Instead of fantasizing about relationships that could never happen, she should concentrate on the business at hand.
Mrs. Vanderloo was her customer. Ruth should handle the situation alone, but the man’s offer of two new dresses might appease the difficult client. The dress shop couldn’t afford to lose her business. Ruth had no choice but to accept. Of course, she would pay him back for the gowns. That should settle the matter.
“All right. I accept.” She might have to concede that point, but she didn’t need to take his arm. “I’d better lead the way.”
* * *
Sam Rothenburg’s day had progressed from bad to worse. First, the train had been late. Then he’d arrived at the store to find construction days behind schedule. When Miss Harris, the secretary, told him that his father was threatening to make a progress inspection, he had to find a way to spur the out-of-town crews to work faster, or Father would yank him off the project. Sam had proposed this store. He had to make it work.
He’d promised the work crews a bonus for finishing early, and they’d sped up. Then three crewmen dropped an expensive display case, shattering the glass and snapping the oak framing. Sam had left rather than lash out at the workmen. Head down and boiling with frustration, he never saw the shy, delicate creature step out of her shop.
She looked a few years younger than him. She was slender and rather plainly attired, and her gaze fluttered this way and that but never directly at him, rather like a frightened bird. Sam had never considered himself intimidating. The thought almost made him laugh. If she only knew how powerless he was. But she didn’t know him. No one here did. Per Father’s orders, no one would until after the store opened.
So he withheld his name and hoped she hadn’t seen his dismay when he learned she was a dressmaker. The moment Father realized a dress shop stood next to the future site of Hutton’s Department Store, he would crush it. Sam felt a little guilty. This lovely woman would soon find herself out of a job. That was why he’d offered to replace the gowns. It didn’t cost much to ease his conscience.
She hadn’t accepted his arm, however, showing an independent streak that impressed him.
He hurried to catch her. “You’re quick on your feet.”
She ignored his comment. “I suppose I ought to know who you are.” Her gaze never left the boardwalk ahead.
Sam swallowed his initial concern. This lady couldn’t possibly know who he was or what type of store would soon open next to hers. Father would not have given the Pearlman city council the Rothenburg name, thus no one could know a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in Pearlman. Father liked to make a spectacle of every grand opening. That was why the store windows were covered and an out-of-town crew hired. He even went so far as to use a holding company to purchase the property. Well before the Hutton’s Department Store sign was revealed, people’s curiosity would be piqued. It was a marketing ploy that had worked well in the past, and Sam expected it would generate the same response here. For now, no one must know the Rothenburgs were involved, including one lovely dressmaker.
“You can call me Sam.” No last name just yet. When pressed, he’d use Roth, but the shortened version of their name that they’d adopted during the Great War never sat well on his tongue.
“Sam.” On her lips his plain name soared. “Samuel. Like the Old Testament prophet.” Faint pink still tinged her fair cheeks. “I’m Ruth. Ruth Fox.”
Fox Dress Shop. With dismay, Sam realized she must own it. The unease returned. The arrival of a Hutton’s Department Store tended to drive local clothing stores into extinction. His family’s stores gave the common man or woman the chance to improve his or her station in life by providing fashion at affordable prices. Thanks to Hutton’s, a housekeeper could dress like a Vanderbilt at a fraction of the cost. In the past, only the well-off could afford to hire a seamstress or tailor. Those wealthy clients could continue with their hometown shop, but they usually abandoned the local tailor for the quality and value of Hutton’s merchandise. Progress was inevitable. It could also be painful.
“Ruth.” Repeating her name distracted him from the guilt. “Like in the Old Testament.” He could use biblical references, too.
“I was named after her. Ruth left her homeland to remain with her mother-in-law.”
“Did you do that also?”
She blushed. “I’m not married. No mother-in-law.”
“Yet.” He loved the rosy color that infused her cheeks. “If I remember correctly, the Old Testament Ruth didn’t stay widowed.”
A faint smile graced her lips. “Naomi did arrange for Ruth to meet her kinsman, Boaz, and he did marry her.”
“Don’t I recall that Naomi had to use a little inventive persuasion to get Boaz to notice Ruth?” Sam glanced over to see this Ruth’s cheeks ablaze. With such an alabaster complexion, every flush showed. A wisp of her honeyed hair floated free from the knot at her nape and streamed onto her shoulder. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear, an urge he hadn’t felt in eight years. Since Lillian...
Ruth ducked her head. “Perhaps.”
For some reason that he couldn’t discover, this conversation embarrassed her. He shifted to another topic. “Ruth’s a pretty name.”
“It’s plain, just like...”
Though she didn’t finish the sentence, he could guess what she’d intended to say. Just like me. But she wasn’t plain, not in the least. If only she could see how lovely she was, not in the gaudy manner of socialites, but in a natural, God-given way.
“Hello, Ruthie, dear.” A short and rather round older woman hobbled up to them with the assistance of a cane.
“Mrs. Simmons. How are you?”
Ruth addressed the woman with so much warmth that Sam took notice. Was this how small-town people treated each other? Fragments of a childhood memory came to mind. A pre
tty little town blanketed in snow. The glow of lights. The cheerful greetings of shopkeepers. Father laughing, holding him up to a shop window. Sam had felt loved, wanted, as if he belonged. Maybe Pearlman was like that.
Ruth stooped to embrace the older woman. “Is your knee bothering you again? I thought it was healed from your fall last winter.”
“Oh, it is. It is.” The woman chuckled. “You know how it is with rheumatism. Sometimes the old legs don’t work quite the way they ought. But enough of me. How is your father doing?”
Ruth’s smile faded. “We haven’t heard from Mother yet. She left for Battle Creek on Monday.”
Sam pretended to examine the merchandise in the drugstore window.
“Do you know when he’ll be coming home from the hospital, dear?”
Ruth’s father must be very ill if he required hospitalization. That meant the family needed the dress shop’s income even more. Sam shoved aside the guilt. It wasn’t his problem.
Mrs. Simmons grasped Ruth’s hand. “I’ve been praying for him.”
Prayer? Sam shot a sideways glance at the woman, whose round face glowed with hope and compassion. That was exactly what his mother would say.
“Thank you.” Ruth ducked her head, something she did far too frequently. “Daddy can use everyone’s prayers. We hope to get a wire from Mother soon.”
If Ruth were waiting for a wire, then they didn’t have a telephone yet. Incomprehensible. How could a business operate these days without telephone service? He shook his head. If the Foxes didn’t step into the twentieth century, their dress shop was sure to fail, Hutton’s or no Hutton’s.
“I’ll be sure to let you know,” Ruth continued. “We’re hoping for good news.”
“I’m sure you’ll get it,” Mrs. Simmons said. “I understand the sanitarium has exceptional treatment for his condition.”
Sanitarium? Mrs. Simmons must mean sanatorium. A sanatorium meant Ruth’s father suffered from a contagious and life-threatening illness like tuberculosis. He might never come home. Each word the two women uttered made his stomach roil more. Father’s marketing ploy hung over the Foxes like an invisible weight. When the department store opened in two weeks, their livelihood would be hopelessly crippled.
That wasn’t his concern. He was here to open a store. Provide quality clothing at an inexpensive price. Hutton’s brought economic benefit to the masses. It gave people more for their hard-earned money. He couldn’t let one little dress shop derail progress.
Chapter Two
Once Mrs. Simmons left, Ruth had to face Sam and the uncomfortable knowledge that he now knew her father was in the Battle Creek Sanitarium. True, perfectly healthy people visited the famed health institution, but they had money to waste in the vain pursuit of youth. Her father obviously did not fall into that category. Sam probably figured he suffered from tuberculosis or mental illness. Neither was true, but she could not share her father’s dire prognosis without breaking into tears. Talking with Mrs. Simmons had been tough enough, but a perfect stranger? Never.
So she averted her gaze and urged him to hurry along with her to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house. Again she walked ahead, trying to ignore the knot tightening between her shoulder blades.
To his credit, he didn’t say a thing.
At first she was grateful for the silence, but then it gnawed at her. What did he think? Did he regret his offer to replace the dresses? She ought to tell him that she would pay him back, but every time she opened her mouth, a sob threatened. Finally, she gave up and plodded onward.
He matched her stride, a distinguished presence that drew the notice of the people they passed. Eloise Grattan, even more a spinster than Ruth, halted in her steps and stared in disbelief, as if she could not believe such a handsome man would ever walk with plain old Ruth Fox. Sally Neidecker tilted her head to best advantage as she paraded in front of them.
“Well, hello,” Sally purred, her sleek bob gleaming in the sunlight.
If Ruth had the gift of speaking her mind, she would ask Sally how her beau was faring.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Sam said and nodded.
Ma’am. Ruth could have laughed. Sam had assumed Sally was married. And she would be if she hadn’t broken her engagement to Reggie Landers.
Sally pursed her lips into a pout. “Miss Neidecker, Miss Sally Neidecker. And you are?”
“Late,” Sam said as he skirted around Sally. “Miss Fox?” Once again he held out his arm for Ruth.
Though she could not accept his escort, joy welled inside her. He had sidestepped Sally in order to stay with her. Though he must have acted purely from a business sense, hope fluttered to life that he might actually prefer her company.
Or he was married.
Ruth glanced at his hands. No ring, but then, not every married man wore a wedding band. That would explain his lack of interest in Sally, however. With each step, the need to know grew stronger. Was he married? She couldn’t just ask. It had to come out naturally in conversation.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her mouth felt dry, but she managed to get out a simple question. “Where do you hail from?”
If he was surprised by her sudden question, he didn’t show it. “Lately, New York.”
“The city?”
“That’s the place.”
A well-off New Yorker. He could be among the country’s elite. That thought put her even more on edge. She instinctively checked her hat and hair.
When he offered nothing more, she hazarded a glance. He caught her gaze and returned a lopsided grin that sent a bolt of heat straight to her cheeks. She turned quickly, but he must have noticed her blush. “My, it’s hot today. I don’t suppose it’s ever this hot in New York.”
“More so. The tall buildings and paved streets hold in the heat.”
His casual manner put her a bit more at ease, and she recalled that not all New Yorkers acted superior to country folk. “Mariah and Pastor Gabe—they’re sister and brother—are from New York City. Maybe you know the family. Meeks?”
“The name doesn’t sound familiar.” He glanced across the street. “How far is Mrs. Vanderloo’s house?”
“Just a couple more blocks.” The knot between her shoulders tightened. He was anxious to get this over with. How tedious her company must be. “They live on the hill.”
“The hill?”
She pointed to the rising terrain to the left. “The hill is where the wealthy live.” She struggled to keep frustration from her voice. Families like the Neideckers, Kensingtons and Vanderloos had been customers for decades, but they’d gradually stopped coming to the dress shop. Didn’t they realize how much her family depended on their business?
“The unfeeling rich, eh?”
She felt a pang of guilt. He must think she detested anyone with money. This was not going well.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “That’s not what I intended.”
He chuckled. “It’s not the money that causes the problem—it’s what people do with it.”
“I suppose you’re right.” But money could cause problems, especially when there wasn’t enough of it.
“At least you concede some aren’t half-bad,” he said. “Take your Old Testament hero King Solomon. He was rich beyond measure and just as wise.”
“Until he allowed his wealth to corrupt him.”
“Then you don’t think it’s possible for a wealthy man to be good?”
Ruth knew she should hold her tongue, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop speaking. “God gives us all that we need. Those who accumulate more are taking it from others.”
He looked startled, and she regretted her words. What had gotten into her? She never spoke her opinions to anyone outside the family, especially not to handsome strangers.
His initial surprise so
on melted back into the easy smile. “Would you forgive a man his wealth if he uses it for philanthropy?”
She had to concede that point. “Of course. I should never have said what I did.”
“I happen to like honest, open expression. Do go on.”
Ruth had already said too much. “I don’t usually state my opinions. Now, my sister Jen would tell you exactly what she thought.” For a brief moment Jen’s preposterous marriage idea flitted through her mind. What if? She eyed Sam carefully. He might be just the type to tame Jen. He certainly had the wit to match Ruth’s wild younger sister. If he had any patience at all—and their brief time together suggested he did—he could mold Jen into a proper lady. Perhaps Ruth should introduce them.
“Jen is your older sister?”
Ruth tried to guess Sam’s age. He looked to be around thirty. Perhaps he wouldn’t be interested in someone several years his junior. She mustn’t mislead him, though. “She’s next youngest after me. Twenty-four this year.”
“Next youngest? Then you have more than one sister?”
“I have three. The oldest is Beatrice. She married Blake Kensington four years ago. The Kensingtons are more or less the town fathers.” She noted a flicker of recognition at the mention of the Kensington name. Who wouldn’t notice? It was plastered on half the businesses in Pearlman. “I’m next, then Jen and last of all Minnie, but she’s just out of high school.” Ruth did not want Sam to get any ideas about Minnie. Fighting her baby sister’s attraction to one wealthy man was difficult enough. Two would be impossible. So she pushed forward the sister of choice. “Jen is quite...spirited.” That seemed the most positive way to describe her sister’s disposition. “She definitely speaks her mind. She’s probably the best conversationalist of us all.” She hazarded another glance, hoping to see a spark of interest in his expression, but instead his brow had furrowed.
“You have all sisters?”
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