Groom by Design. Christine Johnson
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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 pretty 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