The Heirloom Brides Collection

by Tracey V. Bateman

  “Betsy Lowell!” Miss Annie’s boots made quick clicks on the floor as she hurried across the room amid all of the curious stares. “Betsy Lowell!” But Betsy didn’t seem to hear the older woman. She was too intent on the watch.

  Stuart reached out and grabbed Betsy’s arms. “Betsy, stop.”

  “What’d you do? Take it from the street when Pops fell that day? Are you a lousy thief?”

  He scowled at her, anger building. “I bought it at the auction. The auction your pops is responsible for in the first place. So if you want to—”

  “You went to the auction like all these other vultures?” She waved toward the patrons, and the room began to buzz at the implication. Tears sprang to her eyes, and Stuart recognized them as more than tears of anger. Her words and tone revealed how betrayed she felt by him.

  “Miss Lowell,” Miss Annie spoke low and through clenched teeth. “Did I not explain to you that I wouldn’t tolerate rude behavior to the customers?”

  Betsy gathered a deep breath and turned to face her. “Yes, ma’am, you did.”

  “Miss Annie,” Stuart stepped forward. “This wasn’t entirely Miss Lowell’s fault.”

  “Please, Mr. Fields. While I’m sure Miss Lowell appreciates your chivalry, I assure you, it is beside the point.”

  “I don’t appreciate it at all. And he isn’t chivalrous. If anything, he’s a low-down thief.”

  Outrage once more pierced his chest. “I am not a thief.”

  “Then give me back my watch.”

  “My watch. I paid for it fair and square.” He set some bills on the table. “More than fair and square if you want the truth. You’ll be pleased to know it doesn’t even keep time.”

  Somewhere in the dining room, laughter began, then moved across the entire group of diners. Miss Annie glanced at Stuart. “Mr. Fields, I’m sorry for your treatment. Please come back.”

  Without looking at Betsy, he walked, wet and angry, into the cold, snowy night.

  A moment later, someone called out to him. Dread hit him in the gut at the sound he recognized as Betsy’s voice. He turned to face her. “Betsy, I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “I don’t want to argue, either.” She shoved a plate toward him. “You forgot your ma’s dinner.”

  “Oh, I did, didn’t I? Thank you.”

  “I’m not finished.” She reached out and pulled him around. “You owe me a job.”

  Gaping, he shook his head. “How do you figure that?”

  She stomped her foot. “You cost me this one. Miss Annie let me go.”

  “Over spilled water?”

  “You know that was only part of it. But there’s no changing her mind, and I need a position.”

  He hesitated. While he felt in no way responsible for her present circumstances, Stuart did need help in the store with Ma indisposed. Having Betsy there would ease Ma’s mind considerably and might encourage her to stay home and rest her hip.

  “Just until Ma feels well enough to come back.”

  “Fine. What time shall I be there?”

  “We open at eight. Come at seven thirty so I can show you how to enter what people owe into the account book. I assume you know how to count back change?”

  “Obviously,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips.

  “Good. Then you won’t have that much to learn.”

  “I want my watch back, Stuart.”

  “It’s not yours. How would you feel if I went around to everyone’s homes after they bought items from the store and asked for the merchandise back? That’s how things work. You pay for it. It’s yours.”

  “Fine, then tell me how much you paid for it, and I’ll buy it back. Pops left it home that day by accident.”

  Stuart knew he was on shaky ground with her. Maybe a true gentleman would just hand it over and let it go. One thing was certain: if he didn’t return the watch—or sell it back to her—he’d never have a chance at winning her heart. But he had his reasons for wanting it in the first place, and they had nothing to do with the value of the watch or a desire to be stubborn. Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell Betsy the reason. And even if he did, she’d never believe him.

  “The watch isn’t for sale.”

  “Exactly! It was never for sale. It was a mistake, and you need to sell it back.”

  He shook his head. “No. Do you still want that job or not?”

  “And endure your presence every day? No thank you.”

  “That’s up to you. The offer still stands.”

  As he walked away, he could almost feel her glare, and he imagined those blue eyes boring into the back of his head. He doubted seriously she would come to work, and part of him was relieved. He could do without hours of daily anger from her.

  Now, how on earth was he going to tell Ma that Betsy had been fired and he was the inadvertent cause? She would be furious and insist he give the watch to Betsy.

  With a sigh, he shook his head and turned toward home. One woman angry with him was enough. But once Ma joined forces with Betsy, he was in for a very uncomfortable few days.

  Betsy spent a restless night in her room, seething over Stuart’s duplicity and her own stupidity. She had actually been sweet on him. Sort of. She had been every kind of fool believing that he cared for her, too. She wrestled with whether or not to go to the store in the morning. How could she look at him every day, knowing what a cad he was?

  A knock on her door made her decision for her. She opened it to find Miss Annie standing on the step, frowning her disapproval, still clearly angry. She walked inside without being invited and started to speak without saying hello. “I have reconsidered your position.”

  Relief flooded over Betsy, nearly buckling her knees. “Thank you—”

  Miss Annie cut her off with an upraised palm. “There are conditions, of course. For the next week, you will have no contact with patrons. Rather, you will work in the kitchen only, and I will serve. This means, of course, that you’ll need to be at the restaurant thirty minutes earlier each day and will likely have to stay later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I will also be cutting your pay by one dollar each week.”

  Betsy gasped. More work for less wages? She barely made ends meet as it was. “Miss Annie, that isn’t fair. I know I broke a rule by getting so angry at Mr. Fields. But I assure you there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “Yes, everyone heard those extenuating circumstances. We all realize that Mr. Fields went to your grandpa’s auction and purchased a keepsake that was dear to your heart. While I do have pity for you over that, the fact remains it was not Mr. Fields’ fault Old Joe lost everything, nor was he in the wrong for purchasing anything at the auction. He was in the right and did not deserve the sharp edge of your tongue nor a lapful of water.”

  She narrowed her gaze. “Now, I need your word that you will never speak to a customer that way again. I have never given an employee a second chance like this, and I will expect you to conduct yourself with the gratitude that I most definitely deserve from you. You’ve done a remarkably good job for me until last night, and considering your circumstances, I find my conscience bothering me over letting you go. Now, make yourself presentable and join me in fifteen minutes to begin breakfast.”

  She strode across the room and left without another word. Betsy dropped onto her bed, listening to the irritating, persistent clacking of Miss Annie’s boots on the steps as she descended.

  Replaying the woman’s words in her mind, she grew angrier. Miss Annie blamed Old Joe for Stuart’s betrayal? Cut her wages by a whole dollar? And pity? And she expected gratitude? Suddenly the entire diatribe seemed so ridiculous, she started to laugh. Flinging herself back on the bed, she grabbed her pillow and pressed it to her face to muffle the sound of her giggles. Tears of mirth streamed from her eyes. What had she become that a bullying woman truly believed she could walk into her room and demand she be grateful for more work, less money, and more rules?

  When
the laughter finally abated, she sat up, stripped off her nightgown, and dressed for the day. Then she grabbed her bag and packed the few belongings she called her own. She tidied up the room, smoothed the quilts so there was not one wrinkle. She took the broom and swept out every speck of dirt. Below, she heard the thud of the broom handle being knocked against the ceiling to get her attention. She laughed again.

  Poor Miss Annie was in for a hectic day.

  Betsy glanced around the shining room with a sense of satisfaction. At least the woman couldn’t say she left a mess. She slipped on her coat, grabbed her bag and reticule, and headed down the stairs. It was too early to go to the general store. And she hated the thought of explaining her change of heart to Stuart, but she knew he wouldn’t turn her away.

  The restaurant door flung open as she walked past. “Betsy Lowell, where do you think you’re going?”

  A pit formed in her stomach. She turned to face her former employer. “Miss Annie, I can’t accept your new terms. A dollar less per week isn’t acceptable. I have doctor bills to pay for Pops. And I can’t be cooped up in that kitchen for that many hours every day. I am grateful that you reconsidered firing me, and I truly apologize for embarrassing you with my outburst last night, but I think it’s best if I move on.”

  The woman’s eyes grew wide as she stepped onto the boardwalk and straight to Betsy. For the first time, there was none of the haughty attitude from Miss Annie, only true worry. “Now, Betsy. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my renegotiation of our arrangement. Come on inside, and we’ll go right on like before. We can forget that unfortunate incident occurred last night.”

  This was certainly a surprising turn of events. For a split second, Betsy considered the offer. After all, there was no guarantee Stuart would hire her, and if he did, Mrs. Fields might be back in two days and then where would she be? Not to mention she now had no place to sleep. Although, Mrs. Avery would likely insist she take the room at their home. She liked the feeling she’d had the past few weeks. The feeling of making her own way, paying her bills, and taking care of Pops.

  “Well?” Miss Annie said. “Are you coming?”

  “Miss Annie, I’m sorry—”

  “Now, Betsy, honey. I know we said we’d go back to how things were. But I can offer you another dollar a week. I think you’ve certainly proven you are worth a little more than I’d pay other girls, and we’ll just call your room part of your wages rather than taking two dollars each week. How would that be?”

  She’d be a fool not to take it. Betsy knew the woman was getting desperate. But she had another reason for wanting to have different hours. “I’m grateful.”

  Miss Annie’s face brightened. “Then let’s get inside and get to work.”

  “What I mean to say is that while I’m grateful—and I truly am—my pops isn’t doing too well. He’s got himself sick with pneumonia, and I need to see him more than a few hours each Sunday. The hours here don’t allow me to visit him.” And she was terrified he was going to die without her there to soothe him.

  Sudden anger flashed in Miss Annie’s eyes. “How are you going to find another position? After I tell every business owner in town how you berated a customer and walked out without so much as a day’s notice, everyone will see that you’re as unreliable as Old Joe.”

  She’d been about to offer her assistance until seven thirty when she had to be at the store, but no longer. “I’ve already procured another position. And a roomful of witnesses saw and heard you order me out and tell me never to come back. So I did not just walk out without notice.”

  “Betsy, I need your help. How will I get through the day alone?”

  Compassion rose in Betsy, but after what she’d said about Pops? She wouldn’t be stepping foot back inside the restaurant for the rest of her life. Besides, Miss Annie knew all she had to do was put a sign in the window and someone would ask for work. No less than two girls and one gentleman had come in looking for work while Betsy had been there. People were moving into the area all the time, and with winter coming, those who were new to the township would be needing funds to feed their families.

  “Oh, never mind. Go, just go.” Miss Annie’s voice quaked with anger. “Go on. Get out of here.” She spun around and hurried back to the restaurant.

  Betsy tightened her scarf against the biting wind. Two-and-a-half hours remained before Stuart would be opening the store, but since she had nowhere else to go, she crossed the street and made her way to the boardwalk just outside the store. Wrapping her coat closer, she folded her arms to provide more warmth and sat on the bench by the door. Mercy, the temperature must be below zero. Her face had grown numb while she stood talking to Miss Annie. She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes, even with her gloves and boots and thick stockings. Her body began to shiver, and her teeth chattered so hard she was afraid she might break one. She stood and stomped up and down the boardwalk for the next forty-five minutes. The minutes dragged on, and she finally dropped onto the bench again. How long before frostbite set in?

  She began to feel more comfortable, warmer, though she knew without the sun, she shouldn’t be. Her eyes began to close.

  Chapter Nine

  At six o’clock, Stuart stepped up onto the boardwalk two stores down from the general store. He squinted. Horror slapped him as he recognized Betsy’s coat. He broke out into a run. What on earth was she doing lying on the bench? Had Miss Annie forced her to leave her room last night? Oh, dear God, had she been on that bench all night?

  He shoved his hands into his pocket, retrieved the key to the store, and quickly opened the door. He spun back to Betsy. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to the bench next to the stove. To his utter relief, she began to stir as he built up the fire. He could only thank God for waking him up early and giving him the idea to come early because it might take awhile to warm the store with the temperature so cold.

  “What happened?” Betsy’s voice sounded thick and sleepy.

  “You went to sleep outside. Don’t you know better than that? If I hadn’t come along when I did, you could’ve died out there on that bench.”

  “Lucky for me you came along then, I guess.”

  How could she be so obtuse? He wanted to reach out and grab her, pull her into his arms. He went to a shelf across the room and grabbed two blankets. Against her protests, he wrapped her up, then knelt down in front of her and began to unbutton her shoes.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Getting these boots off before you lose your feet.”

  “Oh.”

  He pulled off one boot, then the other, then his face warmed when he realized she was wearing stockings. He turned on his knees and faced the other direction. “You’ll need to… um.”

  “What?”

  “The stockings.”

  “You want me to take them off? Why, that—”

  “Not proper, I know. That’s why my back is turned. I won’t look at anything but your feet, but I need to rub the blood back into them.” He paused, not hearing movement behind him.

  “Betsy, I’m not trying to take any liberties. You have my word. But the temperature is ten degrees below zero, and you fell asleep out in it. You could’ve died.”

  “Okay, wait just a minute.”

  When she allowed him to turn back around, she was covered chin to toes with the blankets. He liked her modesty. Betsy might be stubborn and opinionated and have a quick temper, but she was virtuous. Slowly he reached out, almost afraid to touch her. But he had to get her feet warm—and fast. Taking a deep breath, he lifted one ice-cold foot and began to rub it. She drew in a sharp breath. He ventured a glance at her face. Her bottom lip was firmly between her teeth, and pain burned in her eyes. “I’m sorry this hurts,” he said. “But the pain is an indication the blood is flowing. I’m pretty sure it means your feet will be fine. Why were you sitting on the bench? And how long were you out there?”

  “Miss Annie fired me last night.”

  His heart ne
arly stopped. “You slept on the bench?”

  “Of course not. I’m not a fool.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  Surprised by the uncommon show of humility, Stuart kept his gaze focused on the task at hand.

  “I slept in my room but figured I ought to leave since the room is Miss Annie’s. She asked me to come back to the restaurant, but I need to work where I can see Pops more often. He’s not doing so well.” Her voice broke. “Anyway, I know you might not need me to work for very long, but I was hoping I can go ahead and work with you until your ma comes back.”

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, gently placing her foot on the floor and lifting the other, “Ma isn’t coming back.” The sound of her pain as he began working on the second foot went straight to his heart.

  “Is she all right? I mean, I hope nothing is seriously wrong.”

  Her concern touched him, and he looked up and smiled. “Doc saw her yesterday and said it’s likely arthritis in her hip. He advised her to stop working here since she has to be on her feet for so many hours a day. She flatly refused until I told her last night that you were coming to work at the store.”

  Betsy’s eyes went wide. “But I told you I wasn’t going to.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive my presumption, but I figured you’d rethink the idea and see it was for the best.”

  A slight smile tipped the corners of her lips. “You were right. And I thank you.” Her face darkened as she frowned.

  “What?”

  “I’m still angry about Pops’ watch. I mean, I don’t understand how on earth you could just go and—” She stopped and gathered a deep, full breath, then exhaled. “I suppose there’s no point in dwelling on what I’ve lost. I’ll try not to let it affect how I work here. And… I’m grateful for what you’re doing now.” Her eyes dropped to his hands. “But I think you can stop.”

  He did so immediately. She reached for her stockings, but he shook his head and stood. “Don’t put those back on. They’re wet.” Walking to another shelf, he picked out the warmest pair of wool stockings he could find and brought them back to her.