“Jen! I would never ask a stranger such a thing.” Though she had wanted to.
“You don’t ask directly.” Jen rolled her eyes. “You ask if his wife came with him.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Ruth straightened the stack of envelopes. “He’s not wearing a ring.” Perhaps Jen was already attracted to Sam. Ruth played up the point. “And he does act like a bachelor.”
“How does a bachelor act?”
Ruth felt her face heat again. “They flirt with pretty women.”
Jen laughed. “You do like him!”
“I do not. I simply find him interesting.”
Jen’s laughter came out in a snort. “Interesting? He’s unbelievably handsome. The man could be a moving-picture star. Maybe he is. Did you ask what he did?”
“He’s a salesman.”
“Oh.” Jen considered that a moment. “Maybe he sells moving pictures. What do they call that? A promoter?”
“I don’t think he has anything to do with moving pictures.”
Jen’s eager smile turned into a frown. “Did you at least get his name?”
“Sam.”
“Sam what?”
Ruth had to admit that she didn’t know. As far as she could recall, he’d never given his last name, though she’d told him hers. How peculiar.
Jen gave her a look of thorough exasperation. “How could you spend an hour and a half with a man and not ask him anything important? What did you talk about?”
“Business. Mrs. Vanderloo’s dresses.”
“Dresses. Of course, you’d talk about dresses. If you’re ever going to find a husband, you’ll have to learn to talk about things that interest a man.”
“We had business to address. Nothing more.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to learn a little more about the man.”
“One can hardly ask a stranger personal questions.”
“There are other ways of getting information.” Jen looked as though she was about to burst. “Unlike you, I happened to ask around.”
“You did what?” Ruth tried to look horrified, but she was curious. Still... “That’s gossiping.”
Jen rolled her eyes. “How else are we going to know? You didn’t learn anything, and you had the perfect opportunity. Business. What woman talks business with a handsome bachelor?”
Ruth wasn’t about to divulge the little he’d shared about his family or the unnerving way she’d felt when he touched her.
“Well, do you want to know what I heard?” Jen’s smug smile told Ruth she’d heard plenty.
“I’m not listening to gossip,” Ruth said, knowing her sister would spill the news anyway.
“It’s not gossip. It’s fact. He’s working for the new store that’s opening up in the old carriage factory next door. You know. The store that everyone’s wondering about. I heard they’re going to sell automobiles.”
“Another one? There’s already the place selling Cadillacs. You’d think one would be enough for such a small town.”
Jen grinned. “Maybe he’s rich like Mr. Cornelius, and he’ll sweep one of us off our feet. Then all our troubles will be over.”
Ruth couldn’t believe Jen was still stuck on that patient-nurse romance she’d heard at the sanitarium. Such a fortuitous occurrence couldn’t happen again, or could it? “If you’re interested in Sam, you’ll have to move quickly. It doesn’t sound like he’ll be in town long.”
“Me?” Jen squeaked. “Why would I be interested in Sam? You’re the one he was doting on.”
“Doting? He helped me after we collided. Any gentleman would do the same. I’d hardly call it ‘doting.’”
“It looked like doting to me.” Jen crossed her arms. “I’d say he’s already sweet on you.”
“I’d say you’re talking nonsense, just like that idea of yours.” Ruth pulled the stack of unpaid bills closer. “Besides, Mother will be home Tuesday.” Jen would never pursue her ridiculous plan in front of their mother.
“No, she won’t.” Jen withdrew a crumpled envelope from her pocket and handed it to Ruth. “She’s staying two more weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Ruth yanked the letter from the envelope and scanned her mother’s sprawling writing. Jen was correct. Two more weeks. The family couldn’t afford the costs that had already piled up. If Mother knew they were in such dire straits, she would never have decided to stay in Battle Creek. But Daddy had always handled the bookkeeping. After he went to the sanitarium, Mother had tried to manage, but judging from the lack of ledger entries and number of addition errors, she had no head for figures.
“So you see, there’s plenty of time,” Jen said as she headed to the door, “for you and Sam.”
Before Ruth could scold her, Jen ducked outside.
Ruth lifted her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her head pounded, and she still had to finish opening the bills. She halfheartedly leafed through them until she got to the last. From Kensington Bank and Trust. Her heart stopped. If the ledger was correct, Mother hadn’t made a payment on the dress shop’s loan in months.
She ripped open the envelope and unfolded the letter. A single sentence greeted her: We request your presence the morning of Monday, July 23rd at 9:00 a.m.
Her stomach dropped. What if the bank demanded they bring their payments current? She couldn’t scrape together enough for a single payment, least of all the total owed. It was impossible.
Panic raced up and down her spine. What would she do?
She stared at Mother and Daddy’s wedding photograph. They looked so young and solemn on their happy day. She pressed a finger to the handmade frame.
“What do I do, Daddy?”
He couldn’t possibly answer, but an idea sprang to mind. The bank wouldn’t expect her to do anything in her parents’ absence. Any paperwork would require Daddy’s signature.
She took a deep breath. All would come out well. She would simply go to the bank Monday morning and listen to what the banker had to say. Then she would convey his message to her mother, who would tell Daddy. That would settle the matter.
* * *
Though Father would not approve of hiring a local, in the morning Sam approached young Peter Simmons about repairing the display case. Considering the job did not require Peter to enter the store, Father shouldn’t fly into a rage. The town fathers already knew he was opening some type of retail establishment. One display case wouldn’t give away that it was a Hutton’s Department Store.
Sam stood inside the garage watching Peter assess the damage to the case. The lad looked rather young to be an expert carpenter, yet his blackened mechanic’s hands tenderly stroked the oak framing. His solemn, almost reverent expression contradicted the cowlick springing from the crown of his head. Tall and beanpole-thin, he looked like a boy trying to be a man.
“That’s a pretty bad split,” Peter said slowly as he pointed out the worst of the fractures. “It’s at the joint. I’d hafta replace three pieces. Here, here and here.” He indicated each one. “But this is old oak. I can’t match it.”
Father’s