Groom by Design

by Christine Johnson

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sam striding up the rise onto Elm Street. Every step he took pounded the realization a little deeper. All her life she’d heard the same thing. No man could ever fall for plain old Ruth Fox.

  Especially not a man like Sam.

  * * *

  It hadn’t taken Sam long to figure out that Ruth was trying to match him with Jen. Why she would do that after she’d lingered in his arms earlier that afternoon was the mystery. Not so mysterious was Jen’s even more obvious attempt to promote Ruth. Through the years, Sam had learned to spot far subtler matchmaking attempts.

  Ruth’s and Jen’s clumsy efforts brought a smile to his lips.

  In fact, he rather didn’t mind being the object of their attention. Usually he steered well clear of any woman who harbored designs on him. After Lillian, whose artful manipulation had thoroughly deceived him, he stayed away from unmarried women. Marriage? Never. Though young ladies clamored for his attention, he wouldn’t so much as dance with one. At first people understood. The grieving widower and all. Too soon the mothers and daughters came at him from every side, encouraged by his own parents. Mother thought he needed someone. Father wanted a grandson to carry on the Rothenburg name. Sam had obliged by meeting one or two but always made it clear he would not remarry. None could tempt him.

  Until Ruth.

  As Sam climbed the steps of the boardinghouse, he regretted dropping his guard. He should never have allowed Ruth into his heart, should never have shared the smallest detail of his life, should never have listened to her family’s troubles. Somehow that woman had ensnared him more securely than all the machinations of the most artful grand dame.

  The wide porch was empty at this hour, for the sun beat hot against all but the farthest corner, where a fat tabby occupied the only shaded chair and flicked her tail in warning lest Sam consider removing her.

  “It’s yours,” he promised as he picked up a copy of the weekend newspaper that had been left behind by another of the boarders.

  After settling into a caned chair, he skimmed the front page. The top story detailed a new contract at the airplane-engine factory. The rest dealt with people he didn’t know. He flipped the page to find an editorial speculating on his store. The article hinted at several possibilities, from automobile showroom to feed store. Sam chuckled. Nowhere did it mention a department store.

  He sat back in satisfaction, easing his aching back and legs. Arms behind his head, he decided a nap was in order until he spotted Miss Harris striding quickly toward the boardinghouse, patting her hat and dark hair into place. She also boarded here, along with the floor manager and the architect.

  “Good afternoon,” he said since she didn’t appear to notice him. “I see you’re giving your feet a break today.”

  “Oh. Mr. Rothenburg.” She paused on the step and looked around before joining him. “If I’d known I’d have to hike through the wilderness, I would have worn boots.” She shooed away the cat and sat down.

  Sam managed to hide a grin. Nothing around Pearlman qualified as wilderness, not like the Canadian wilds that Father had taken Harry and him to as youths. Enamored by how Teddy Roosevelt had built his strength through physical trial, Father had once dragged Sam and Harry on a tenting “expedition” in early May. A late-season snowstorm collapsed their tent, and they nearly froze. That had been the last testing in the wild. Father conducted future tests from the comfort of his home.

  Miss Harris leaned her head back with a sigh.

  “Trying day?” he asked.

  “Productive day.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I got the answer. It seems impossible, considering they own half the town, but they don’t know.”

  Sam breathed in with relief. In a week and a half, everyone would know that a Hutton’s Department Store was coming to town. All this ridiculous subterfuge would end, and life could return to normal. He’d leave, and the excitement would settle down. Pearlman would step boldly into the future. Gone the sleepy town, replaced by commerce and progress.

  Across the road lay the airfield, quiet on this Sunday. Far to the right stood the large airplane-engine factory. Across the way and to the left stood the flight school. Gnats clouded the late-afternoon shadows. Swallows swooped through the air with more grace than any man-made flying machine. Again Sam’s thoughts turned to Ruth and how he could convince her not to pay for any of Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.

  Maybe after the truth came out, she’d remember that kindness and forgive him.

  * * *

  Ruth stared at the stack of unpaid bills on Daddy’s desk. She had to do something. Jen’s idea had been a ridiculous fantasy. Marry a wealthy man? What had possessed Ruth to agree to such a scheme? Such were the dreams of schoolgirls, not grown women. Marriage depended on the improbable joining of a man’s and a woman’s will and purpose. It could not be accomplished in short order or on command.

  Have a little faith, Jen had said.

  Well, Ruth had prayed and prayed for a husband for years, and what did it get her? Nothing. Clearly God had other plans for her, and she’d done her best to accept them. She would take care of the family and run the business. But she would never have a family of her own, and no crazy plan was going to change that.

  The family’s growing debt concerned her more at the moment. Work was the best solution. She needed a job that would allow her to run the dress shop during the day and earn wages at night. That meant working in a factory. Perhaps Simmons Aero-motor was hiring. The newspaper lay on the sofa. Ruth picked it up and began to flip to the back, when she saw an editorial speculating on the type of business that would open in the old carriage factory. Sam’s business.

  She sank onto the sofa and read the ideas. Most were preposterous, but one stood out. A furniture store. Furniture was upholstered. She could sew, and the largest factories were only an hour away in Grand Rapids.

  What had Sam said? That the business would open in a couple of weeks? Maybe that was enough time. Maybe Daddy could hang on long enough for her to find a job that would earn the kind of money he needed for treatment.

  A light rapping at the door broke her thoughts.

  Ruth glanced at the clock. Nearly seven o’clock. Perhaps one of her sisters’ friends was calling.

  She heard the front door open.

  “Ruth?” It was Beatrice, and, judging from the lack of noise, she hadn’t brought the children.

  “In the living room.” Even as she said the words, Ruth remembered what she’d seen at Green Lake. Her pulse accelerated. Did Beatrice know? Had something terrible happened? She rushed to the front door.

  Her sister was carefully removing her dainty straw hat, encircled with silk flowers. Not one strand of Beatrice’s blond hair fell out of place. Her fashionable lace-and-linen dress didn’t display a single wrinkle. Beatrice hung her beaded bag on one of the pegs, and Ruth was ashamed of their humble home. How different from the lavish house Beattie now shared with her husband and children. Three stories. Mahogany furniture. Silver tea service. Five sets of china. Five! Mother had barely half a set left after all the pieces they’d broken.

  Beattie embraced Ruth with genuine warmth. “Where are Genevieve and Wilhelmina?” Only Beatrice would use their younger sisters’ much-detested full names.

  “They went to the cinema. Apparently a Rudolph Valentino film is in town. And the children?”

  “At their grandparents’ house.” Beattie sighed, and only then did Ruth see the faint worry lines creasing her brow. “I’m glad we have a chance to talk alone.”

  Oh, dear. Beatrice did know about her husband’s dalliance. To hide her dismay, Ruth tugged her sister into the living room. “Let’s sit. I’ll make tea.” Anything to delay the awful truth.

  “No, thank you.” Beatrice settled on the edge of the sagging sofa, hands fo
lded on her lap, as composed as if she were about to inquire after Ruth’s health. How could she stay so calm when Ruth’s stomach was tied in knots? “Shall we catch up?”

  Catch up? Thoughts tumbled like rubber balls in Ruth’s mind as she set the newspaper aside and sat beside her sister. Such an innocuous question. Maybe Beattie didn’t know about her husband’s trip to the far side of Green Lake.

  Ruth drew in a shaky breath. “About what?”

  Beattie’s laugh tinkled softly, like a silver spoon on fine porcelain. “A certain man, perhaps? Tall, dark-haired and exceedingly handsome. Willing to watch a squirming toddler just to sit next to you?”

  With a start, Ruth realized her sister hadn’t come here to talk about Blake or her marriage. This visit was intended to promote Sam.

  “Don’t believe everything that Jen and Minnie tell you,” Ruth said. “Mr. Roth is new in town, and I invited him to join us at church. Mother and Daddy would have done the same.”

  “Yes, they would have.” Yet Beattie’s smile made it perfectly clear she didn’t accept that explanation. “And to the park also?”

  Ruth drew in her breath sharply. Beatrice had been at the park this afternoon? Maybe her eyes had deceived her. Maybe it was Beatrice with Blake, and Ruth had spotted a dark hat, not dark hair. “Oh. Yes. The park.”

  Beatrice didn’t seem to notice Ruth’s discomfort. “What a handsome man, and a real gentleman. I could tell he’s fond of you.”

  “As a friend, perhaps.” After all, he’d promised to see Jen again, not her.

  “Perhaps. Or maybe more than friendship if you give it time.” Beattie clasped Ruth’s hand. “Don’t chase this one away.”

  “I don’t—” Ruth began, but it wasn’t true. She did push men away. It was easier than suffering the inevitable disappointment. Though the regretful incident ten years ago topped the list, Ruth had heard and overheard enough to know that men did not find her desirable.

  “It’s worth the risk,” Beatrice said.

  “Maybe.” The rumors about Blake that swirled around town nagged at Ruth, but she could not tell her sister what she’d seen. She could only warn her. “Sometimes a man can hurt you badly.”

  Beattie smiled softly. “Great joy risks great pain.”

  “I don’t think I could bear it.”

  “Of course you could.” Beattie hugged her close. “You’re the strongest person I know. Always taking care of Mother and Daddy and the dress shop. I don’t know how you hold up under everything.”

  Ruth’s throat constricted. “It’s not the same. Mother and Daddy will always love me. But how do I know a man will?”

  “You just know. Deep inside. Maybe it’s your heart. Maybe it’s God telling you that he’s right for you. All I know is that when you find the man you’ll love for the rest of your life, you know it. Maybe not right away. I didn’t like Blake one bit when we were younger, but in time I knew he was the one for me.”

  Ruth held her breath and willed away the painful memories. Spilling them would do no good.

  “Give it time,” Beattie said. “Give Mr. Roth a chance.”

  “There is no time.” At least here Ruth could speak with confidence. “He’s only in town a couple weeks.”

  “Then we must hurry. The Grange dance is next Friday night. You’ll need something to wear. I wouldn’t rely on our sisters’ good intentions, and there’s not enough time to start from scratch. Perhaps you could alter one of my gowns.”

  Ruth bitterly recalled promising to attend. “I could never fit into one of your gowns. Why, I’d have to let out two full sizes. There’s not enough seam allowance for that.”

  “Perhaps one of my maternity gowns could be altered.”

  “Never!”

  Beatrice laughed. “You’re right. They would be a bit dowdy. Perhaps we can create something new. You could do something based on one of your sketches.”

  “Jen talked to you, didn’t she? She thinks I can make a gown out of scraps. Well, I can’t.”

  “Perhaps there’s another option.” Beatrice crossed the room to where Mrs. Vanderloo’s ruined dresses hung from the open kitchen door. “Whose are these?” Beattie ran a hand over the mint-green lace dress. “Beautiful fabric.”

  “Except for the stains. Both gowns are completely ruined.”

  “Maybe not.” Beatrice touched a finger to her lips, deep in thought. “The gowns are in the old style, with all that excess fabric. And at least two sizes too large for you. With your talent, you could find a way to work around that stain on the green dress and create a lovely drop-waist gown that would fit you perfectly.”

  Ruth cringed. Mrs. Vanderloo would go into a conniption if she saw Ruth wearing her old tea gown. “I can’t. It’s Mrs. Vanderloo’s. I dropped both of them when Mr. Roth ran into me.”

  “Can you get the stain out?”

  “I’ve tried, but it’s permanent. We’re going to replace both gowns with new ones.”

  Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Then she doesn’t want them back?”

  “She said she never wanted to see them again.”

  Beatrice lifted the skirt of the green gown. “Perfect.”

  “No, it’s not. If I showed up at the dance wearing her old dress, she’d accuse me of stealing.”

  “Then change it into something entirely new. Dye the fabric. Add a sash or a different colored underskirt. You’re so talented, Ruth. You could turn this into anything at all.” She ran her fingers over the ivory georgette. “Why, you could make this one into a wedding dress.”

  “Wedding?” Ruth choked on the word.

  “Jen told me her idea.”

  “It’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Beattie held the ivory gown against her body. “This would fit all three of you, but you best of all.”

  The dressmaker in Ruth immediately pictured a gown for Jen and just as quickly tossed that image aside. Jen and georgette did not go together. She was more canvas jackets and leather boots. Hardly wedding-dress material.

  “I think it’s charming that our sisters want to help you find a beau,” Beattie said as she returned the dress to the hook. “You deserve it, Ruth. No one would make a better wife and mother. You’d probably do a better job than me.”

  “Never. You’re a wonderful mother.”

  Beatrice turned away to dab her eyes. “Forgive me, but sometimes I’m beside myself with the children. If only Blake would help more. But then, he’s so busy with the store.” She mustered a shaky smile. “Look at me blubbering away about my insignificant problems when I wanted to encourage you.”

  Ruth hugged her sister. “No one loves those babes more than you.”

  “I—I wonder sometimes. Tillie and little Branford are such a handful. Blake says the noise drives him crazy. He wants quiet and order after a hard day’s work.”

  Ruth squeezed her sister’s hand. What could she say? “I don’t think any home can be quiet and orderly when there are little ones around.”

  “I know.” Beattie drew in a ragged breath. “And I know it will pass, but...” She paused for so long that Ruth thought she wouldn’t finish. “Things aren’t the same between us since Branford was born.”

  The admission lanced through Ruth. Was that Blake at Green Lake? She wasn’t certain enough to tell Beatrice. “I’m sure it’ll get better when the children grow a little older.”

  Though her sister nodded, both knew that no one could ensure such a promise.

  “I’ll pray for you,” Ruth added.

  Beattie attempted a smile. “Thank you. And I’ll pray for you and Mr. Roth.”

  Ruth started to tell her sister that a relationship with Sam was hopeless, but Beatrice seemed to cling to that promise of romance as if it would somehow cure the problems in her own. For that reason, Ruth kept qu
iet.

  Beattie grasped Ruth’s hands with desperate hope. “Promise me you’ll make the dress for the dance.”

  “All right.” Ruth would not disappoint her, but she had no intention of dancing with Sam Roth or any other man.

  Chapter Seven

  Shortly before nine o’clock on Monday morning, Ruth approached the bank, letter in hand. Instinct told her that the interview wouldn’t be pleasant. No payments had been made on the note all year. Yet the bank manager, Mr. Shea, knew Ruth’s father and mother were gone. He wouldn’t call her there for a scolding. He would wait until Daddy returned home. This must be some trivial matter.

  She arrived before the bank opened and waited with Reggie Landers for the clerk to unlock the doors.

  Reggie, leaning against the side of the bank as if he’d been there for hours, touched a finger to his straw boater. “Good morning, Miss...?”

  It did not bode well for Minnie’s hopes if he couldn’t remember Ruth’s last name. “Fox. Miss Fox.”

  “Fox. Yes.” He struck a jaunty pose, much as Sam would do, and clicked his fingers. “I’ve heard that name before. Don’t tell me. It was at a party.”

  “Perhaps.” Ruth couldn’t break Minnie’s heart by reminding Reggie that he’d likely seen Minnie working at one of the grand parties.

  “I remember. The Valentine’s Ball. That’s it. But it wasn’t you that I saw.”

  “True. I have never attended.” Nor received an invitation. She tried desperately to remember if Beattie had gone this year. It was the sort of affair Blake wouldn’t miss. “Perhaps you saw my sister.”

  “That’s it. The girl manning the punch bowl. She works for Sally’s mother.”

  Reggie could not have any feelings for Minnie. He barely knew who she was. Poor Minnie!

  “Tough to get good help these days.” He pulled out a pocket watch and flipped open the cover. “One minute past nine. Even the bank can’t keep accurate hours.”

  As if on cue, Ruth heard the scrape of a key in the lock and Miss Evans pushed the door open. Seeing as the church bells just now chimed the nine-o’clock hour, Ruth begged to differ with Reggie’s pocket watch.