Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
A fter the service, Elsie slowly walked down the aisle amid the line of people. She was ahead of her family and behind two women she didn’t know, listening as they chattered about a dress shop that had recently opened. One had bought two yards of lace, and the other a length of fabric to make a new shirtwaist. Both mentioned intending to pop in again today.
Longing filled Elsie’s chest. To have the luxury of browsing in a dress shop, much less buying something, seemed like the fulfillment of a dream.
Outside, Reverend Joshua and Delia Norton stood on one side of the steps and the elder Nortons on the other. Since they’d already spoken to the newlyweds, Elsie moved into the line in front of Reverend Norton and his wife Mary.
Mrs. Norton gave Elsie a sweet smile and pressed her hand. “So lovely to see you here today, Elsie.”
“I wish we could get here more often,” Elsie said wistfully.
The woman’s soft blue eyes showed understanding. “We must make the best of the times when you can worship with us.”
Elsie nodded and moved to clasp the hand of Reverend Norton, who looked like a stern Old-Testament prophet. But really, he was as kind as his wife.
He smiled, his eyes softening. “Elsie…. Why, I believe you’re old enough for me to call you Miss Bailey . My, how time flies. I remember your baptism.”
Elsie grinned, delighted by being addressed as Miss Bailey . Only after she’d moved on did she remember her parents thought her old enough to marry. Her smile faded, and she dutifully glanced around for a potential husband.
A posse of bow-legged cowboys gave her shy nods as they walked by. None of them appealed to her as a possibility. She didn’t particularly want to be stuck out on a ranch. If she had to choose, she’d want a man who lived in town. Or, at least, nearby to one.
Maybe a clerk. But a glance around didn’t reveal any such bachelor. Relieved she’d done her duty to no avail, she sidled closer to her family.
Once everyone had greeted the minister and his wife, Elsie touched her mother’s arm. “Ma, can I go look at the new dressmaker’s shop?”
“For land sakes, Elsie.” Ma harrumphed. “Might as well wish for the moon as for one of those dresses.”
“Please, Ma? Just to look.” She pleaded with her eyes.
Her mother sighed and glanced up the street to where the rest of the family headed. “Only fifteen minutes, mind. Then meet us at the mercantile.”
Elsie clasped her hands together. “Oh, thank you!”
Ma held up a finger. “And not a word about wanting anything you see in there.”
“No, Ma,” she said, keeping her tone obedient. I can want in my heart without opening my mouth. After all, she had plenty of practice in holding her dreams close to her heart.
Before her mother could change her mind, Elsie hurried across the street, careful to avoid stepping into horse droppings. Bad enough to wear shabby clothes and a sunbonnet without also smelling like manure, and even worse, tracking excrement into the dress shop.
The Gordons’ new building was clad in brown-pinkish stone. Elsie admired the facade, which in her opinion, was far classier than the red brick of the mercantile or Mr. Livingston’s house. In the shop on the corner, a big glass window—which must have been ever so expensive—gave a view inside. Across the top of the glass, painted gold letters spelled out, Miss Constance Taylor, Dressmaker .
Normally, Elsie would have lingered to study the window display but didn’t want to use up any of her precious fifteen minutes standing outside. For the same reason, although she wanted to stop and admire the carved wooden doors leading to the inside of the building, she was too conscious of the time ticking away.
She opened one of the double doors and stepped into a wide hall lined with paneling. The first door on the right stood ajar, and lilting women’s voices drifted to her—a happy sound. Removing her sunbonnet and holding it in one hand behind her, she walked in the direction of the dress shop, her footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floors.
Timidly, Elsie stepped through the door of the shop and was greeted by the perfume of roses in a glass vase set on a satin-smooth, small desk that had narrow, tapered legs. All the ladies were busy with their shopping and didn’t notice her.
Elsie’s breathing hitched, and she didn’t know where to look first. She inhaled a breath of happiness, resolving to make every minute of her fifteen count. Slowly, she walked around the room, savoring all the details.
A pretty blonde, who must be the dressmaker, was engaged in an animated conversation with a stout woman holding a navy-blue skirt and a tall, thin woman with a flowered hat in her hands. Miss Taylor wore an outfit the shade of spring grass, expertly cut to fit her stylish figure, her tiny waist tightly corseted. She looked younger than Elsie expected to be owning her own shop.
Elsie became aware of her own waist, thick in comparison to Miss Taylor’s. Corsets were a luxury the Bailey family couldn’t afford, given how impractical they were for farm work. The ancient one Ma wore today was from before her marriage and only donned for church or special occasions.
Although Elsie knew she looked as neat and clean as possible, she couldn’t help but wish to appear as elegant as Miss Taylor or Delia Norton. She tried to move as quietly as a shadow so as not to draw the dressmaker’s attention.
To distract herself from her flight of vanity, Elsie continued to peruse the room. On the back wall, a cabinet rose floor-to-ceiling. Each narrow shelf held bolts of fabric arranged by color, with plenty of practical, pretty cottons as well as wool, velvet, chiffon, damask, black crepe, and other materials she couldn’t name. A door led to an interior room. She wondered what was back there.
A rack of readymade garments hung on the wall near the entrance. A bench covered in blue, green, red, and silver damask matched the curtains at the windows. Just sitting there would make any woman feel like an elegant lady. Elsie wished she dared sit and breathe in the refined air, taking as much time as she wanted to observe everything .
A shallow cabinet held trims, each spool of ribbon or rickrack on a peg or in a cubby. Midway along one wall, a display of hats made of straw or felt with ribbons or artificial flowers stood on stands set atop a glass counter. A collection of lace, some that looked old and others new and machine-made, lay in ripples of rich vanilla, white, and cream, as well as various colors. Elsie wished she could take each piece out and study the delicate design.
Colorful remnants draped over several bars fastened onto the walls. She particularly liked one with red roses splashed on a white background. She could imagine making a pillow to place on a settee or sofa. Not that the Baileys had a settee or sofa, just rough-hewn benches and the rocking chair that had belonged to Ma’s grandmother.
In the middle of the room, a beautiful evening gown made of shimmering purple silk shot through with silver threads draped over a statue-like, white figure similar to a dress form, which perched on a raised wooden floor. Four rows of lace edged the square bodice. The puffy sleeves, banded in velvet and lace, ended above the elbows. The bottom of the V-shaped basque had a small double ruffle.
The skirt was plain, and at first Elsie wondered why. She snuck a glance at the dressmaker, wondering if she dared ask. Then she realized that the lucky woman who purchased the gown would have the skirt hemmed to her height. Would Miss Taylor then add embellishments and lace? Oh, to be the woman who buys that dress. I’d feel like Cinderella at the ball.
She gazed at Miss Taylor in awe. The dressmaker owned her own business. She was clad as fine as any of the wealthy women in town and possessed the ability to create such beautiful apparel.
Elsie envied her with a fierce ache that even a pointed mental reminder she needed to make the most of her precious fifteen minutes couldn’t banish. I have my imagination. Many people don’t .
With a deep breath, Elsie released her envy and looked around the room some more.
This store is like a treasure chest. She suppressed a giggle at a poetic fancy. Or perhaps nourishment for my starving soul, which will provide fodder for my creative vision for many days and nights to come.
Chores such as weeding the garden were much easier when she could live in her imagination rather than dwell on her boredom. Lost in her daydreams, she could almost ignore the strain on her back and leg muscles, the heat or cold sapping her strength, and how dirty her hands, feet, and skirt became. She turned to study the shelves of fabric, deciding to select one for her pretend dress.
“Can I help you find something?”
The sound of the dressmaker’s voice pulled Elsie from her reverie.
The other ladies had left, and Elsie couldn’t believe her good luck in actually talking with the woman. “Oh, no, Miss Taylor. Everything’s so lovely, though.”
Elsie wondered if she should explain what she was doing. Surely the dressmaker would understand. “I’m trying to look my fill, so I’ll remember all the details when I go home. Who knows when my father will bring us back to town?” She leaned forward, glancing around to make sure no one had entered who could overhear her, and lowered her voice. “We usually work the farm on Sundays, just like any other day of the week.”
Miss Taylor smiled and gestured in a circling motion to indicate the whole shop. “Apparently, so do I.”
“I’m ever so glad.” Elsie bobbed her head, happy to explain her thoughts. “I have a good imagination, and I can create a new dress.” She waved toward the mannequin. “One like that would be wonderful but not realistic. My leg-of-mutton sleeves won’t be that big.” She pointed at the dress and made a curving motion. “I’d make them halfway between fashionable and practical.”
“Sounds sensible. I prefer not to use the term leg of mutton when describing sleeves. I fear I sound too much like a butcher.”
Relieved the dressmaker hadn’t dismissed her fanciful thoughts, Elsie agreed. “Full sleeves, then.”
“That will do.” Miss Taylor’s green eyes danced. “Or if you want to sound fancy and Parisian, gigot sleeves.”
Puzzled, Elsie asked, “ Geego . What does that mean?”
“Leg,” Miss Taylor said in a dry tone.
Leg of mutton. Elsie couldn’t help giggling.
With a chuckle, Miss Taylor joined her.
“ Geego . I’ll remember that.” Elsie reached out a hand toward the bolt of blue gingham—pretty, but still practical—careful not to touch. “I’ve chosen this fabric.”
“Do you need me to help you figure out how many yards to buy?”
Elsie sighed. “Only in my dreams.” She leaned closer, catching a whiff of the woman’s rose perfume. “But I tell you, Miss Taylor, that dreams are important out on the prairie when you don’t have much else.” She hoped the dressmaker would understand. Still, she braced herself for the rejection that was sure to come when the woman realized Elsie wasn’t buying anything.
Miss Taylor’s eyebrows pulled together. “What is your name?”
“Elsie Bailey.”
“Miss Bailey, are you interested in dressmaking?”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “Call me Elsie, please. That’s what I’m used to answering to. Making a dress is just a dream.”
“Doesn’t have to be. Would you be interested in a job?” Miss Taylor waved around the shop. “As you can see, I have more work than I can handle. I’m looking to hire someone.”
Excitement fired up, sending energy through her. “I’d love to, Miss Taylor. I can sew a fine seam by hand, embroider, tat, crochet.” She touched her collar and then the embroidered pansies on her cuffs. “I make patterns from old newspapers, but I don’t actually use them on fabric, since I don’t have any material.” She shrugged. “Every scrap we have is already put to use.”
Miss Taylor smiled. “You sound very talented.”
Reality poured cold water to quench her dream. Elsie sighed, trying not to feel the hurt. “But what with needing three hours to drive to town and another three home…” She shrugged. “Don’t even know how long I’d take to walk to town. Wouldn’t have enough hours in the day to actually work for you, although maybe in the summer, when it stays light for a long time, I could give you a few hours and maybe even take sewing home with me.” I’m babbling. But she so wanted to earn money in this way.
“Housing comes with the job.” Miss Taylor pointed upward. “I have a suite on the third floor with an extra bedroom. You can live with me.”
Elsie sucked in a long breath. “Really? You’re not pulling my leg?”
“ Limb , Elsie,” Miss Taylor chided in a mock plummy tone. “Ladies use the term lower limb , not leg.”
“You’re not pulling my lower limb, Miss Taylor? My geego ?”
“Why, Elsie, you learn so quickly.” Miss Taylor chuckled. “I wouldn’t be so cruel as to pull your gigot .”
Delighted by the woman’s humor, Elsie clapped her hands together. “I’d like nothing better than to work with you. I’ll ask Pa and Ma right now. They’re at the mercantile.” She whirled and headed out the door, pulling on her sunbonnet. Please, please may they say yes!
Although wife hunting had been a bust, at least, Hank could buy supplies for himself and Torin at the mercantile. Brian Bly had also requested a few cans of stew.
A little straw hat hadn’t been on his neighbor’s grocery list, but when Hank saw the jaunty boater with a pink—Jewel’s favorite color—ribbon tied around the brim, he couldn’t resist buying it. After all, the girl had a birthday coming up next month.
But, unlike the other supplies that could fit in his saddlebags, he’d have to hand carry the hat—not the easiest thing to do when riding horseback lest he crush the delicate straw. He’d just mounted Chipper and settled in the saddle, when an unexpected gust of wind grabbed the hat from his loose grasp and floated it down the street, toward a mud puddle.
Oh, no! Hank urged Chipper forward.
A girl in a drab, yellow dress, a sunbonnet hiding her features, walked up the street, a bounce to her step. She saw the fly away hat, picked up her skirts with one hand, and took a running leap to catch the boater with her free hand. “Woo-eee!” She waved the hat in triumph, a big grin on her expressive face. Her lustrous brown eyes sparkled, and she hurried over to hand him Jewel’s hat.
Reining in, Hank took the boater, this time holding more tightly to the brim, lest the wind carry it away again. “Much obliged.”
“Gotta watch these straw ones. I made the prettiest hat—saved for ages for the yellow ribbon and two hatpins—and despite jabbing the crown with both , the prairie wind wrenched it off my head and dropped the thing smack into the pig pen,” she said with obvious indignation, her brown eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t believe what our wretched pig did with it.” She wrinkled her snub nose, making her freckles dance. “Let’s just say there wasn’t much left. Now I have to wear this ugly ole sunbonnet.”
The girl’s story was so descriptive, Hank couldn’t help laughing. “No pigs on Main Street, thank goodness. But that mud puddle would have surely ruined my present for a special little girl.”
“Your special little girl sure is lucky to get such a pretty gift.”
“She’s very loved, and so I do thank you for the save.”
“You’re welcome.” She tilted her head in the direction of the mercantile. “Gotta go. Ma only gave me fifteen minutes to linger after church, and I’ll bet I’m at fourteen minutes and fifty-five seconds.” She gave him a jaunty wave, ran her hand down Chipper’s nose, and rushed past them and into the mercantile.
Still smiling at the girl’s irrepressible spirits, Hank kept a hold of the hat brim, while still trying not to break the straw. His little sister, Julianne, had the same bubbly ability to make people—even their dour grandfather—smile. Until, that is, diphtheria had taken her along with their grandmother. He firmly shut the door of his mind on those memories.
Riding home, while carrying the hat would be a challenge. He imagined tying the small hat on his head to keep his hands free. The ribbons were certainly long enough. Just the ridiculous picture that made had him simultaneously cringing and chuckling. Oh, no. He’d carry Jewel’s gift.
Then the reaching branches of a bush almost grabbed the hat from his hand. With an eyeroll of resignation and gratitude that no one would see him looking so ridiculous, he halted Chipper and carefully placed the boater on top of his bowler, tying the pink ribbons under his chin.
Buying the hat hadn’t been the best idea. But the laugh from the girl turned a frustrating day into a better one. Too bad she’s not older.
Whistling, he kneed Chipper in the direction of home, savoring the story he’d have to tell Torin.
By the time Hank reached home, his whistling had died away, and he’d fallen into a brood. He’d thought finding a wife would be relatively easy. After all, he should be a good catch—clean habits, possessing all his hair and teeth, a decent face, and some of the prettiest land around. But he hadn’t thought available women might be so rare in Sweetwater Springs, or that the kind of woman he had in mind might not be eager to move into a one-room cabin, no matter how well-crafted.
He reined in Chipper, and, instead of dismounting, studied his house, seeing the place as if through the eyes of his future bride. Would she care if he pointed out how the tight shingles on the roof never leaked, or how well the chinking sealed the logs so no errant cold air trickled inside, or the smooth plane of his floors that wouldn’t catch splinters on bare feet? What about the two front windows, wider than normal for a cabin so as to take in the lake view? Surely, she’d like the blue-painted shutters that he used in bad or freezing weather to cover the glass and keep the warmth inside.
She’ll probably want more space and privacy.
Frowning, he swung down from Chipper and led the horse around the house to the barn. But a hail from Torin, walking down the path, halted him.
“Jewel’s napping,” his friend called, moving close to grin at Hank. “I thought I’d slip over to retrieve the supplies and hear how your courting is going.” His eyes lingered on the hat perched on Hank’s head. “Um…a new fashion in men’s attire?”
Having forgotten the pink boater, Hank merely rolled his eyes. He tapped the crown and thrust Chipper’s reins into Torin’s hand so he could untie the ribbons and take off the hat. “An impulsive purchase for Jewel’s birthday.”
Torin smirked, his eyes alight. “Her birthday isn’t for several months. Even I haven’t thought of what I’ll get her.”
Though Hank was in a broody mood and knew he’d looked ridiculous, he didn’t let out the growl he’d use at any other time. Torin seldom smiled, much less grinned in such a way, making him look relaxed and younger. He was inclined to let his friend’s amusement pass unchallenged.
Shrugging, he dangled the hat by the ribbons. “Last year, we had a snowstorm the week of her birthday and neither Brian nor I was able to get to town.”
“True. But Jewel doesn’t know the date of her birthday until we celebrate it.” He reached out to touch the brim. “She’ll be thrilled with this.” Torin shot Hank a penetrating glance. “Now what’s got you all bothered?”
Am I that easy to read?
“Yes, I’m a mind reader.” Torin chuckled. “But, actually, your mouth had an uncustomary downward pull. You’re usually fairly even-keeled and good-natured, not like Brian with his perpetual frown.”
Thinking of teasing Brian, even in his absence, made Hank’s bad mood start to dissipate. Their grumpy neighbor always served as an example to poke fun at. “I saw Brian smile once. Remember that time…” He pretended to think. “No, guess I don’t remember a time.”
Torin chuckled.
Hank let out a sigh. Maybe I should talk to Torin. He was married, even if the relationship didn’t work out. “I’ve realized that I don’t have as much to offer a woman as I thought.” He ran a hand down Chipper’s neck. “A one-room cabin like I’m a pioneer?”
“Maybe pick a woman who’s used to a one-room cabin or two or three rooms that aren’t well built. Probably sharing a small space with plenty of people. In comparison, your place, with the view of the lake, will seem like a palace.”
Hank scowled. “Problem is, I was thinking of a…a more elevated lady.”
“I had an elevated lady.” An expression of pain crossed Torin’s face. “Take it from me. They aren’t always a wise choice.”
Hank scuffed the dirt with his boot. There wasn’t a comfortable way to comment on his friend’s failed marriage.
“I doubt there are any marriageable elevated ladies in Sweetwater Springs.” Torin jerked his head toward the house. “While you’re searching for your wife, why don’t you add on?”
“I’d planned for a bedroom someday .”
“Sounds like “someday” is now.”
A spurt of excitement went through Hank. He raised the hat. “Let me put this on the porch and get Chipper settled. After, I’ll show you what I have in mind.” He loped up the steps to the porch and set Jewel’s hat on the rocker. Returning, he took back Chipper’s reins and started toward the barn.
“I have about forty-five minutes before Jewel wakes up.” Torin fell into step with him.
In the small barn, Hank inhaled the comforting smell of horses and hay and unsaddled Chipper, allowed the stallion a drink, and handed Torin the saddlebag containing his supplies, setting his own on a straw bale. Silently, the two took each side of the horse and began to groom the buckskin hide.
Once the horse was settled, they each carried a saddle bag out of the barn. Instead of going through the back door, Hank moved to the east side of the house and tapped a log halfway up the back wall. “I could put a door here.” He paced out the dimensions of the room. “What do you think?” He stopped for Torin’s input.
With a shake of his head, Torin walked over to the imaginary boundary and added four strides to the length. “Ladies, especially elevated ones, like wardrobes. You’ll need more space.” His friend made a wide step sideways. “More width, too.” He stamped a foot. “A fireplace here on this wall for warmth…” He hesitated. “For an all-too-brief time, my marriage wasn’t bad.” His blue eyes became sad and distant, seeming to look back in time. “There’s not a more sensuous sight than firelight playing over your beloved’s skin.”
A lump rose in Hank’s throat. He didn’t know what to say to the man’s pain, so he remained silent. But Torin’s words were a stark reminder that finding and courting a bride was only the beginning to keeping her happy for a lifetime.